


Afters

by pukajen



Series: Travels [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukajen/pseuds/pukajen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The need to be alone with her, without the skeletons of a half-destroyed city, the broken bones of buildings and scorched overpasses a reminder at every turn of how close they came to losing, is powerful and more than a little selfish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Afters: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for challenge 14 over on lj's its_always_been. Instead of one story with three cities, I chose to write three stories, they'll be very loosely related, but are completely readable as standalones. For this story I used New York and Montreal.
> 
> At some point the fantastic soundingsea will politely ask me to take a long walk off a short pier if I ask her to beta another word, but fortunately for me this fic was not the tipping point. Thanks so much!
> 
> I've finished writing the whole thing and am going back and forth with Sea on various chapters. It's pretty long and I should be getting a chapter out once, if not twice a week.

When the dust settles, metaphorically speaking, only two weeks after he's once again had a hand in partially destroying Manhattan, Tony sits idly looking over the new plans for the penthouse condo he plans to make his home away from home. It felt pretty perfect the first time, but now that he's had some time to think about it there are some changes. Pepper has some pretty good ideas too, which he's incorporated into the new plans. 

It will be the first home – if it ever gets finished – that he's officially shared with anyone. Well, apart from the ones he shared with his parents, and those really don't count. Sure, he and Pepper have more or less been living together for the better part of a year – longer if you consider the countless times she crashed at the mansion after he became Iron Man and she stayed to make sure he really didn't have a concussion or internal injuries. 

He tried to count those as time spent together in a shared home when he campaigned to get her to move in. Turns out, Pepper did not put in the plus column all the 'proof' he provided in the form of videos of her sleeping at the mansion. 

Lesson learned.

There might also have been a promise extracted to the effect that none of the videos of them together in any sort of remotely compromising position – as per her definition – would ever be kept either. Jarvis, oddly enough, gave his full approval to that promise. For a supposedly emotion-free AI, Jarvis has some very definite opinions on specific matters.

Looking back at the plans, Tony notes several areas to add better video monitoring; also, SmartGlass outer windows might not be the smartest idea. He wonders if Pepper would go for steel on the outside with SmartGlass on the inside displaying an image to simulate the world around them. 

There's an itch in between his shoulder blades as if someone is watching, waiting, getting ready to attack. It took him months when he came back from Afghanistan to be able to just sit quietly and not listen for footsteps. Weeks to wonder what else, exactly, Stane had messed with that would sabotage his life again. He still has nightmares about Pepper in danger, about getting there too late to save her from the drones. Though by far the worst dreams are those when she's with him in a cave and she's getting hurt because of her association with him. Tortured because they know what she means to him, know his true weakness is the woman he loves, the woman he would do nearly anything for. 

If he were less selfish, a better man, Tony thinks he would force her to go, push her away from him, from Stark Industries, but he knows that no matter how far he pushes, how hard, she's been too much to him for too long. And now that he has her, has had these last amazing months – practically two years really – of living with her, Tony knows he would never survive without her. Plus, he doesn't think any buttons exist anymore that he could push to get her to leave. And he's always been so good at pushing buttons.

Despite everything, he's both excited and nervous about their cohabitation plans, though his nerves have nothing to do with actually living with her, or not really; though he's not sure why officially having something they've designed together makes it more real than the mansion, but for some reason it does.

He worries she won't be able to put up with him – which is ridiculous when he thinks about all the other shit she used to put up with from him, and now he can at least try contrite charm and orgasms as apologies – and that she'll somehow see through to the real him, find he's just as vapid as everyone has always claimed and leave him for someone better. 

Someone who doesn't grab onto a nuke and fly it into a wormhole into outer space millions of light years away in a heroic move shown around the world. A move that should have resulted in his death. Absentmindedly, Tony taps his arc reactor; it's glowing strong as ever through his the cotton of his t-shirt.

“Tony?” Pepper says his name softly, her hand slipping gently down the bare skin of his right forearm. 

There's nothing he can do to suppress the jolt of surprise that he somehow missed her arrival. He tried to tell himself that his heart is beating so quickly because that's just what happens when she's near. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just turns to look at her, trying to order his thoughts into words, but he can't come up with anything. Words, which usually come so easily, so glibly to him, desert him when he needs them the most.

“Tell me what's wrong?” Pepper asks softly, linking her fingers with his as she comes around the back of the couch to sit down next to him.

“Nothing that I can really define, just a low-level feeling of unease.” He gives her a sheepish grin. “Sorry I've been so out of it lately.” 

“You've been through a lot.” She squeezes his fingers reassuringly. “The bids are going well,” she tells him, changing the subject to something she knows interests him.

“Have the idiots on TV stopped trying to convince the public that we – and by we, I mean me personally – should pay for the damage?” 

“Turns out once it was suggested that the next time there's an attack, that SHIELD won't lift a finger to help without getting an agreement, in writing, that there will be no legal or political recourse, most people stopped complaining.”

“Maybe we should asked to be paid,” Tony muses, warming to the idea. “Hazard pay or something on a situational basis.”

“I'll be sure to mention that next week when I meet with the mayor of New York and each of the presidents of the surrounding borough, as well as the governor,” Pepper tells him dryly. 

“No, you won't,” he says, leaning in and dropping a kiss on her shoulder bared by the dove grey silk shell top she's wearing. Idly, he wonders what happened her blazer. And, exactly how out of it was he, that he not only missed her coming home, but also removing an article of her clothing. 

“No, I won't.” Turning her head, Pepper catches his lips and gives him a long, thorough kiss.

“How was your day, dear?” Tony asks sardonically when they break apart.

“Not bad. SI got the bid to replace three of the office towers.” She gives him a saucy smile. “Per our agreement, one of them will have my name on both the structure and the lease.”

“One hundred percent agreed,” he says, then yelps when she pinches him just under his left ribs. “What was that for?”

“I was only using twelve percent of my pinching capabilities, just so you know there's a difference if I ever need to use one hundred percent.”

“Just so I know, how much longer can I expect to be paying for that remark?”

“It'll be a fluid thing,” she informs him with a big smile that lights up her eyes. 

Over the months he's gotten used to this playful, open side of her. The one that likes to laugh, who teases him readily, who can also be girly and soft, and so not at all what he imagined her to be. Oh, she can blow his mind – did, in fact, two nights ago with that trick she did with her tongue on his cock and her fingers teasing places they hadn't been before – she's passionate and seductive, and takes the lead as often as she follows, but it's the softer, quieter moments he never before pictured that ground him in ways he didn't even know he needed to be grounded in.

With a sigh, he pulls her onto his lap and just enjoys holding her to close to him. Right before he blacked out – pretty sure of his own death, and considering all the other near-death situations he's been in before, he has a lot of data to extrapolate from – his absolute last thought was of her. No actual situations, regrets, or wants, but just of her. Her warmth, her love. Pepper.

Later, when the media had more or less left, the boring parts of clean up were underway, and he'd slept for like a week, there were more concrete thoughts.

Thoughts about whether or not he should start taking fewer risks, if he should try to give up Iron Man – something he knew she would never, ever ask him to do, as despite her grave worry for him, Pepper supported and understood perfectly his need to fly around in a shiny suit. Thoughts about what the future might look like if he actually managed not to get himself blown up; those thoughts both comforted him and simultaneously freaked him out.

Never before had he thought much about the future, never mind a future with a specific person in pretty much every version.

Still, Tony isn't sure exactly what to do about everything, or what Pepper wants – she seems happy with the status quo, but maybe she's been thinking too and wants more but isn't sure what, if anything, to say to him as his track record isn't stellar, or really existent, where relationships are concerned, not that she's really one to talk given that she's only—

“Hey, what's going on in there?” Pepper's voice cuts into his manicly spiraling thoughts. She taps her index finger at his temple before running her fingers through his hair. When he doesn't say anything, she leans back to look at him, cocking an eyebrow to let him know she's not going to let this go.

“Sorry, I spaced out for a moment.” Tony winces as the words leave his mouth; it's probably far too early to make jokes, even off-hand comments, about him and being in space. But Pepper, thank the gods for her, doesn't even wince at his thoughtless comment, just continues to slowly tunnel her fingers through his hair. 

“What were you thinking about?”

“Just a mess left over from the fight,” he says, keeping it as vague as possible. For all he can be completely oblivious, even he can have some common sense, and his common sense is telling him that pouring out his mish-mash of half-formed thoughts is not the way to go.

Pepper studies him for several long moments before settling back against him. Her head tucks onto his left shoulder; the fingers of her left hand continue to run soothingly through his hair. 

“What are your thoughts for this weekend?” she asks. 

Relaxing more deeply into the couch, Tony tries to untangle his sticky mix of emotions, but only manages to find more knots. All he knows for sure is that he wants to be with her. Unconsciously, he tightens his arms around her waist, drawing her tightly to his chest.

“You, me, and a deserted island?” The need to be alone with her, without the skeletons of a half-destroyed city, the broken bones of buildings and scorched overpasses a reminder at every turn of how close they came to losing, is powerful and more than a little selfish. 

Again she pulls back and studies his face. He's not sure what emotions are showing, but clearly something is, because she leans in and kisses him ever so gently on the lips.

“What about Montreal?” Pepper asks when she pulls away.

“Well, it's an island, but with a population of over one and a half million, I'd hardly call it deserted.”

“I was thinking we could go up for the weekend. Get away from everything, decompress a bit.” Her thumbs stroke gently under his eyes. 

“You don't have, like, I don't know, a bazillion meetings you need to go to?” It feels like he's barely seen her the last couple of weeks except to fall into bed together; at first he was too sore to do anything more than lie next to her, and this last week, they've both been so wiped out they've just slept. 

Now that he's really looking at her, Tony notices what he hasn't before; she has her own dark circles under her eyes. He's not sure if she's just better at hiding them, or he's just still that much of an asshole that he didn't notice. 

He really hopes it's the first, but worries it's the second. 

“It's the weekend, and, frankly everyone is exhausted and just wants some time to catch up on sleep.”

“Meetings getting bitchy?”

“I prefer to think of it as active discourse.”

“Did you yell at anyone?” If she did, he wonders if there's footage anywhere he can hack into to watch someone else be on the receiving side of Pepper's temper. 

“I didn't,” she says with an almost smug superiority.

“Miss Potts, did you antagonist the other people in a stuffy boardroom into losing their tempers, then sit back and play the reasonable, coolly efficient CEO?”

“I really didn't need to antagonize anyone; they just sort of imploded all on their own.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?” He doesn't believe that for a second.

“All that matters is that we have declared a long weekend barring any emergencies and don't meet again until nine am on Tuesday morning.”

“So, that means Montreal?” Tony asks, warming to the idea of getting away with her. Sure, that island is far from deserted, but it's not filled with as many people as this one is, most of whom either want to hug or hit him.

“If you want.”

“Jarvis, find me the best hotel in Montreal and book it.”

“I would, sir, but Miss Potts has already made all the arrangements.”

Tony looks at her in curiously. “I thought you didn't make my plans any more.”

“I do when they're my plans.” She grins at him with more than a little superiority in her smile. “That they involve you is only a tertiary consideration. Say, twenty-two percent.”

“Still paying.” Leaning in, he nips at her bottom lip. “When do we leave?”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two, totally spaced on posting yesterday.
> 
> The part most definitely lives up the overall story rating.
> 
> Thanks again to Soundingsea for the betas. The amount she turned around on her birthday alone is astounding.

Previously:  
Tony looks at her in curiously. “I thought you didn't make my plans any more.”  
“I do when they're my plans.” She grins at him with more than a little superiority in her smile. “That they involve you is only a tertiary consideration. Say, twenty-two percent.”  
“Still paying.” Leaning in, he nips at her bottom lip. “When do we leave?”

 

It turns out that the answer is immediately. All Pepper wants is to change out of her work clothes – not that she's dressed casually for travel; it seems to Tony she swapped one business suit for another. 

The ever-efficient Miss Potts already has both of their bags packed and stowed in the back of the Bentley, which is driven by Happy to Teterboro. Gillian and Mark – the pilot and co-pilot of his private plane – get them up to Montreal within a half-hour of takeoff. 

“Sometimes being a billionaire has its perks,” Tony drawls as he sprawls in the back of the hired Towncar with tinted windows that picks them up at the private terminal at Pierre Elliot Trudeau Airport. 

“Only sometimes?” Pepper asks archly as she slides neatly in beside him.

“Okay, being able to get pretty much anything I want, any time I want it, doesn't suck either.”

Ignoring him, Pepper pulls out her BlackBerry and starts checking her messages. Tony wonders, if given the choice between chatting with him or uninterrupted time with the CrackBerry – she seems more attached to it than to her favorite pair of shoes – which she'd choose. Forcefully, he shoves the thought away, not liking the fact that he would probably end up losing to the little hand-held device. 

Drumming his fingers on the armrest, Tony does some mental betting on how long it'll be before Pepper clobbers him. The longest she's ever held out is eighteen minutes and twenty-three seconds, but in her defense she was asleep for twelve of the minutes.

“Do you want to have sex?” Pepper asks, her thumbs flying over the tiny keys on her phone. His fingers abruptly stop their tapping.

“Yes!” Tony exclaims, mentally pulling up a map of Montreal in his head. By his calculations, they have at least twenty minutes at this time of night before they hit Old Montreal and Le Sainte-Sulpice, their hotel. They've had sex in much less time and in much more confined spaces.

“I don't mean now. I mean in general,” she clarifies without looking up from whatever fascinating piece of information she's reading. 

“You, me, naked was pretty much what I thought this weekend was about.” There's a lot of time to make up for – okay, fifteen days, but still, Tony figures he's got like eight years of missed sexual experiences with her to make up for – and he wants to get on it as soon as possible.

'On her,' says the part of his brain that supplies all of his sexual innuendos.

“Well, if you want me to have any part in your plans, I suggest you don't do that with your fingers any more.”

Just in case she's serious about her threat Tony drops his hand to his thigh. And really, Tony wonders, would she be? Forcing him not to have sex means she won't be getting any either, and for all that he has the reputation, she's no slouch when it comes to jumping him at just about every possible opportunity. There was that time in the stadium in Beijing –

In his pants, his cock twitches at the memory of her mouth sucking him to heaven, while her hands--

No, bad. No sexy thoughts. Not when there's still an interminable fifteen minutes left, then the potential of check-in time wasting, and god, what if she wants to go to dinner before—

Her hand clasps his, stilling his drumming fingers.

“That wasn't on purpose,” he shoots out, his voice a little too loud and frantic for the confined space of the Towncar's back seat.

“I know.” She gives him a long look, a secret smile dancing around her lips and eyes and all he wants to do now is return the favor from China. To see her eyes fill with fire and passion, to have her hands gripping his hair to the point of pain as she arches and cries out his name.

“Is it because I said sex?” Pepper asks, slipping her BlackBerry into the small black purse wedged between her hip and the door. Long experience with him has her keeping some things out of reach.

“In my defense, it's been three-hundred-and-fifty-eight hours since we've had any kind of sexual relations.”

“I don't know; that encounter in the shower pretty much fulfills even the broadest definition of sexual relations.”

“Yeah, but that was life-affirming sex and I was still high on endorphins from not dying and you hadn't realized quite how many bruises I was sporting.” In her defense, he hadn't realized either, nor would he have cared, the need to be with her was so great.

“Still counts.”

“Wait!” Tony sits bolt upright, dislodging her hand from his thigh. “You owe me a ridiculously dirty sexual favor.”

Pepper looks serenely at him as if she can't imagine what he's talking about. He tries, he really does, but she's always been the more patient of them. But maybe with everything that's happened she's forgotten what she whispered in his ear, with Coulson standing not ten feet away. But, how could she have forgotten? It was a promise to—

“Fine, fine,” he says, grabbing her hand and dropping it back onto his thigh, though several inches higher up. “I know you're just messing with me, that you remember.”

“Tony, the amount of sexual favors you think I owe you is legion, so you're going to have to narrow it down for me before I can decided if you're full of shit or not.”

He grins; he can't help it. Every time she swears, he gets a secret thrill. Once they'd become a couple, she'd started letting out the occasional fuck; it had just spiraled from there. Who knew she could curse so creatively? Although he's spent more than his fair share of time around military personnel, he's still somewhat shocked by what a potty mouth she can be. 

“You have three more seconds to continue to sit there like a grinning idiot before whatever favor you think I might owe you expires.”

“What! No, absolutely, not.” She arches an eyebrow at him. “You promised me that we could spend a whole evening investigating that box you won't let me see the contents of.” So far he knows from some amazing personal experiences that there are a pair of lined handcuffs, two sizes of butt plugs, and tingling massage oil. 

“Oh, that promise,” she says, eyes wide, her expression all innocence.”You haven't said anything about it. I figured you just weren't interested any more.”

“Considering you had to wear a scarf or high collar for nearly a week after New Year's Eve, I think my interest in your box is assured no matter how much time passes.”

Pepper snorts out a laugh and Tony reviews his words and leers at her. The sexual innuendo was unintended, but he won't tell her that.

“I'm glad I can keep your attention,” she says, laughter still dancing around her eyes in the dim light of the car's interior. 

“Until the end of time,” he says, suddenly serious. He doesn't ever want her to doubt that she's captured his undivided attention. That what he feels for her is not fleeting, not going to pass; despite what the tabloids report, or her business associates think, she's it for him.

“I know,” she answers, equally serious. “And you have to know that it's the same for me.”

He searches her face; he knows that she wouldn't have entered into a relationship with him without weighing the benefits and drawbacks, likely events and improbable circumstances, of what they could build or end up destroying. In the end, she seems at peace with what they are, confident in their ability to keep their professional lives on track without sacrificing their personal relationship.

Still, every now and then he can't quite believe that the organized, efficient, sophisticated woman who ran his life for so many years has fit him so easily into hers. 

“Love you,” he says, the soft words filling the space around them. 

“Me, too,” she answers, leaning in to share the softest of kisses with him. 

They ride in silence the rest of the way to the hotel.

# # #

Despite the short notice, and the fact that room wasn't booked in Tony's name – he wasn't in any way linked to the room, in fact – they get fantastic service upon check-in. Even if Charles, the night manager manning the check-in desk, stutters briefly upon seeing Tony.

After all this time, Tony is used to it and would have actually been mildly insulted if he hadn't been recognized. 

“The suite is ready to your specifications, Mme Potts,” Charles says, handing over a key. “Please take the elevator up to the fifth floor. We will have your bags to you immediately.”

“What plans have you made for us, Mademoiselle Potts?” Tony murmurs in Pepper's left ear, causing her to shiver ever so slightly. 

His hand skimming over her hip, circling around to rest on the small of her back, they walk through the lobby. To the right, there's a seating area with some comfortable-looking heavy leather armchairs and a sofa facing a fireplace that sits unlit in the May evening. 

When they're in the elevator, Tony crowds Pepper into the far corner and takes her mouth with his. She tastes familiar and soothing, yet exotic and exciting. Passion flares quickly and he wraps his hands around her hips, holding her in place so he can move snugly against her. Pepper shifts, but she doesn't try to get away; no, she opens her mouth and welcomes him with a soft moan, her tongue tangling with his as the elevator rises to their floor.

All too soon the soft chime signals their arrival and with a low groan of reluctance, Tony pulls back from Pepper until just his mouth touch hers. 

“Soon,” she promises, lips brushing his. 

Lacing their fingers together, they make their way down the dimly lit corridor to their suite. 

# # #

Plates with evidence of a much-enjoyed meal are left abandoned on the table in favor of opening a second bottle of wine – 2007 Tenuta dell'Ornellaia Masseto, from the extensive private collection of the hotel's restaurant's wine cellar – and lighting a fire in the suite's fireplace.

“I wasn't sure how that eco log was going to burn, but it's okay,” Tony concedes as they settle onto the couch, lights dimmed to a barely dull glow, the shutters for the floor-to-ceiling windows opened to the night. Street lamps glow orange and there are some buildings with lights on in upper floors, but for the most part this section of Old Montreal – at least, five stories up – is dark. 

“Fire is fire; once lit, I didn't think it was going to look that different,” Pepper says, taking a sip of her wine. 

Tony is sure that Pepper is thrilled he agreed to try the eco log rather than rouse someone at the front desk to get them actual wooden logs. Isn't he doing enough for the environment with his wind farms and low-emissions engines for both planes and boats?

Fight narrowly averted, Tony is content to sip some fairly decent wine and have Pepper snuggle up to his side. The couch is close enough to the fire that he can feel a slight heat from the flames in the grate, but far enough away that having Pepper touching him from just under his left arm to his knee isn't overheating him.

At least not in a way that causes heatstroke. Though, stroking of other kinds... 

“You're thinking about sex,” Pepper accuses as she pulls back to look at him coolly.

Frantically, Tony tries to see if any part of his brain has been paying attention to what she'd been talking about. He's got nothing.

Resigned, Tony grins at her charmingly. “To be fair, I'm always thinking about sex when you're around.”

“Only when I'm around?” Pepper asks archly. There's a smile tugging at the corner of her lips that Tony knows, just knows, is waiting to burst out and turn naughty. 

“Okay, pretty much when you're not around too, but in my defense I have a very strong sex drive.”

Lust as sharp as a good electrical zap courses through him when Pepper's hand drops to his half-hard cock and she strokes it with a barely-there touch. It's a miracle that he can set his wine glass down on the side table without spilling its contents or dropping it on the floor.

“Doesn't feel too strong right now,” she says a coy smile finally winning, and her lips turn up in a look that's filled with offers and promises that Tony can't wait to participate in.

“Done with your wine?” Tony asks, his voice starting out a note higher than he's comfortable with. Clearing his throat, he reaches for her glass to set it aside with his, but she evades him.

“Unlike you,” she says, her smile turning sly, “I can do two things at once.” So proving, she takes a slow slip of her wine, lips gently coming in contact with the glass, chin tilting up exposing the long, pale length of her throat. Just as she swallows – muscles working, eyes filled with knowledge – she strokes him from tip to root and all Tony can think of is how it feels when his cock is in her mouth. 

“To be fair--” he grits out, then loses his train of thought as she licks her lips and hums softly in the back of her throat. She really is going to be the death of him. If he'd known she was this, this, this fucking hot, this fucking open, this fucking everything he would have, well, probably screwed her or pushed her too far and fucked up the best, most fulfilling relationship he's ever had.

“To be fair?” Pepper prompts, stroking him so very lightly again.

“To be fair, I can do two things at once.” Whatever examples he was going to present leave in a gasp as she slips her hand down to cup his balls. Her touch is both too light and too much; Tony knows if he doesn't want to embarrass himself and come in his pants like a horny sixteen-year-old, he's going to need to distract her.

But, fuck, what she's doing – the barely-there strokes interspersed with the hard, fast ones – feels so fucking amazing. 

“Focus, Stark,” he tells himself and doesn't realize that he's said it aloud until he hears Pepper's clear, highly amused laugh fill the suite's living room. 

“Yes, Mr. Stark, focus,” she says mockingly, stroking back up his cock which is now hard as granite. 

Leaning forward, Tony kisses the laughter from her lips and takes it into his mouth, enjoying the sensation of turning her laughter into a soft hum of pleasure as his tongue runs over the roof of her mouth.

Tangling his fingers in her silky hair, Tony holds her in place, tasting, testing, reminding them both of how much they enjoy this. It feels like it's been months since he's just kissed her without feeling rushed and too tired or sore to go further. And her response is just as eager, just as happy. 

She tastes of past and present, of fun and forever, of familiarity and adventure. She tastes of Pepper.

Chasing her tongue, Tony tries to ignore her hand, which is still ever so lightly stroking his cock. He wants more than fast, more than ending this too soon. He wants this to last for both of them, to savor every touch, to relish every kiss, to wallow in her scent, her feel, her. 

And if anyone ever knew his thoughts – well, it wasn't like he'd left other women wanting before, but still – he's pretty sure most of his image as bad-boy billionaire would be shot. 

His fingers leave her hair and he traces a path down her neck with the lightest touch he can manage. Pepper shivers when he pauses to flutter his fingers over her racing pulse – a spot he knows well, one that delights him every time gets this reaction; the knowledge that he knows how to elicit responses from her thrills him every time. 

They know each other's bodies well, but she's still a surprise to him, still fascinating. He wants to taste her everywhere – the mild tang of her, the skin under her jaw, the soft barely-there flavor of the underside of her breast, the sharp spice of her slick arousal. He wants to hear the different sounds she makes when he gives her pleasure – the whimper when he sucks hard on her nipple, the low moan when he runs a light touch over the back of her knee, the harsh groan that slips from her lips when he slides into her welcoming, wet heat.

Wanting more of her, but needing to slow down, Tony pulls back, away. 

“Tony?” Pepper questions, lips starting to swell from his kisses and now completely naked of lipstick. 

“Slow,” he says, more asks really, as he slowly slips his fingers through her hair. 

Looking him in the eye, Pepper fluidly rises to her feet to stand between his knees. It's further that he wants and he aches to just gather her close and lose himself in her welcoming embrace. Smiling knowingly at him, her long fingers go to the top button of her shirt – one he's seen her wear countless times in the past to business meetings, press conferences, and days when she's stuck in her office for hours on end . Nimbly she undoes the top button, pausing to make sure she has his full attention before continuing to the next.

The glow of the fire halos at her back, casting her front into shadows, but his brain is nothing if not imaginative and he has enough facts to be able to fill in the pale expanse of skin that she exposes when she undoes a second button, the tight constellation of freckles on the swell of her right breast when the third button leaves its anchoring, the round promise of more when the fourth one comes loose. 

Pepper pauses there, running her index finger of her right hand along the dark, lacy line of her bra; the contrast between the material – blue? gray? black? - and the milky white offering of her breast makes him want to taste, to feel, what he's been missing for days, weeks, years of wasted opportunities. 

What the fuck made him want to go slow? More importantly, why the fuck did he say it out loud?

He must have shifted without realizing it because Pepper dances back, giving him a knowing smile.

“You asked to slow down, so now I'm setting a slower pace.” With a shrug she lets her blouse fall to the floor and Tony wonders how he missed the last two buttons, then doesn't care as she's running her hand ever so slowly, sensuously, over her stomach, up her ribs, to cup her lace-covered breasts. 

When she tweaks her own nipples, Tony joins her in a low moan, voices mixing, high and low echoing off the high ceiling in shared need. His hands itch to feel, to give, to take and it's all he can do not to lunge up and plunder. 

Her hands leave her breasts and travel back down the sleek, white expanse of her stomach until they reach the waistband of her jet black pants. Again she pauses, waiting for his eyes to come back up to meet hers. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, mouth smiling at him in a way that grabs him in the gut and pulls the desire right out of him in hot waves.

When she glances down, he follows her gaze to find that the button has been undone along with the zipper. With a shimmy of her hips, her pants slide down her long, long legs – so fucking long, so fucking smooth, so fucking strong, so fucking wonderful when wrapped around his back, heels digging into his ass as he thrusts into her – to pool on the thick oatmeal-colored carpet at her feet. In a smooth move, she steps away from the pile of clothes, from him, towards the fire.

“Coming?” Pepper asks in a voice laden with sex and promise. 

“Pretty soon,” Tony growls in a joke that's a little too close to the truth. Surging to his feet and stalking to her, he rips his shirt over his head before he gets to her. 

None too gently, he clutches her to him, hands at her hips, his left leg sliding between hers as their mouths meet in a kiss that's more wild need than the practiced finesse he used to be known for. Their mouths bump, teeth clash, tongues tangle as they fall into each other, desperation and desire fueling their movements. 

His hands meet hers at the fastening of his pants and they jockey for position for a moment, until Pepper draws back and Tony yanks the button undone and jerks the zipper down. Pepper's hands are at his hips, ready to shove his jeans down as quickly as possible. The material isn't nearly as accommodating as Pepper's pants were and the denim tangles around his calves. Tony curses himself for wearing one of the newer, tighter pairs – sure, they make his ass look fantastic, but really, Pepper already wants him; why did he have to pick today to flaunt? 

Smirking at him, Pepper lowers herself to the carpet; the licks of firelight dance over so much pale skin turning her stomach gold, her breasts orange and red, her thighs molten heat, her calves shadowed, darkened mystery. Again, she runs her hands over her torso, up to her breasts; he can see the muscles in her stomach clenching, can hear the low whimper when she toys with her nipples. Her eyes glitter up at him and Tony nearly breaks his neck when he trips over his jeans in his haste to get to her. Kicking them aside, Tony falls on her, his arms taking the majority of his weight at the last second so that their bodies brush rather than crush. 

Her legs fall apart, cradling his hips; his chest presses into hers and the lace of her bra is a rough contrast to what he's used to from her smooth skin. The barrier is maddening when all he wants is her, him, now. With hands that aren't nearly as steady as he wants them to be, Tony slides his hands under her back, searching for the clasp that keeps her from him.

With more luck than planning, he gets her bra undone on the second try – never before Pepper has he ever had any issues getting a woman out of her clothing, even after more than one drink, hell, more than six drinks. But she either doesn't notice or care about his fumbling; her hands running roughly up and down the planes of his back dig in when she arches against him. 

Using his teeth, Tony tugs down the right strap until Pepper can pull her arm free. He goes to her left shoulder, but the ripple and taunting movement of her right breast, nipple peaked and beckoning, distracts him, and he lowers his head, taking into his mouth what he's been missing for so many days now. 

The pull, the need, form a pit in his stomach and it's all he can do not to take her fast and hard. Never in his life has this aching desire been so piercing. They both moan as his lips close around her taut bud.

Her nipple is hard and small and fits perfectly in his tongue when he curls it upwards. She moves restlessly under him, her nails mapping out mysterious patterns on his back, leaving behind trails of past nights and bringing forth future ones explore. Needing more, Tony sucks her nipple and Pepper moans and arches into him, his name mixing with her low sound of pleasure. 

Nipping and kissing, Tony makes his way over to her other breast. For a brief moment, her fingers abandon his back and he's about to protest when she shimmies and her bra is gone. Her skin is so pale that even in the changeable light of the fire, he can see where he's left marks and feels a primal pleasure at having left tangible evidence behind.

“Smirk all you want, Tony, but don't think your back is going to be unscathed.” So saying, she rakes her nails down from his shoulders to ass and Tony's not sure what to think when knowing she's left her mark on him gives him just the same amount of deeply primal pleasure.

“Mine,” he growls out, leaning down to nip none too gently on the soft skin between her breasts. If he weren't absolutely sure she would do something awful – send him to back-to-back meetings, change his soap to grocery store brand, withhold sex – he would mark her where he could see. Where she couldn't easily hid the evidence of his adoration with clothing.

Maybe she won't—

“Don't even think about it,” she pants, her hands curling around his biceps.

“Thinking, not doing.”

“Yes, because you're known for your impulse control.” Her right hand goes behind his neck to toy with the hair there, tugging none too gently to warn him she'll stop him if he tries anything.

“Been known to hang on to some impulses for hours,” he tells her, dark promises in a voice that's gravel-rough.

Pepper just arches an eyebrow and gives him a vaguely haughty look that does nothing but drive him mad. Even before they were sleeping together it turned him on; now it makes him want to wipe it from her face in the nastiest of ways. 

Moving quickly, he sucks her left nipple, teeth scraping, and her nails dig in; five pricks of pain at the back of his neck and five more on his right bicep. Her hips jerk up to him when he sucks again and he can't wait to bury his aching cock inside her.

His hands scrabble down her sides and he shoves at her underwear until he can feel her wet heat slicking his right index and middle finger. He parts her and circles her opening listening to the tune of her moans, waiting, waiting, until she's gasping before sinking his fingers inside of her.

She's hot and slick and welcoming. The half-whimpers, half-groans she makes at every stroke egg him on. It feels like it's been months since he's heard that mix of pleasure and demand from her and he wants to hear it again and again. Curling his fingers when he's deep inside, Tony searches for that spot that will make her back arch and a silent scream part her lips.

It's not to be, however, as suddenly her hand is around his cock stroking him from root to tip, strong and tight just the way she knows drives him wild. Her thumb plays with the head of his cock, as her index finger finds that spot on the underside that can make him come if he doesn't exert some control.

And control is not something he has in abundance. In fact, there's nearly none left at all. 

In a jerky motion he rolls away and manages to yank her underwear down once there's enough room between their bodies. Helping him, she bends and wriggles until she is naked. The way she shimmies causes all sorts of delicious swaying of her breasts and nearly has Tony howling with frustrated desire. Frantic with need, Tony feels like an inept idiot as his boxers snag and tangle around his knees in his haste to be just as naked as Pepper.

Finally, he manages to break free of the silk and vaguely vows never to wear—

“Holy fuck!” Tony calls out as Pepper's mouth closes over the head of his cock and then sucks. Hard. He can feel her cheeks hollow along his shaft and is unable to stop himself from thrusting into her mouth. But she's ready for him, knows him and his reactions nearly better than he knows them himself, and she jerks back.

“Play nice,” she says, voice nothing but sex and heat washing over him snapping the last fraying thread of his control. 

Hauling her up by the arms, Tony has her under him in a heartbeat. 

“No more play,” he says; then his lips takes her savagely, his tongue thrusting in and out of the dark welcoming depths of her mouth in a promise of what's about to come.

So to speak.

He doesn't touch her pussy again; he knows she's wet and ready. Plus, the way she's moving against him, Tony knows that Pepper wants him inside her just about as badly as he wants to be inside her. 

He wraps his left hand around his cock and guides it to her, pausing for one incredibly long second until she looks him in the eyes. When she does, he plunges in and has to fight the urge to come right away. She's hot and wet and so fucking tight around his cock that it feels like he hasn't been inside her in longer than weeks, more like months, or maybe forever. Her eyes shine at him in the dancing firelight and give off about a million times more heat. 

The need to hold is strong, to feel this forever, but so is the need to move, to pull out and thrust back inside again and again until both of them are on the knife-edge of sanity. 

Unable to stop himself, Tony withdraws; the air cools on his cock, which is now slick with the evidence of her desire, and the temperature difference distracts him just enough to stop him from slamming back in before he's halfway out. Her hands are on his ass, nails biting, fingers urging him to move and so he does; thrusting back into her was never something he wouldn't be doing.

Pepper bends her knees until her heels are at her ass and arches her hips up to meet him so that they come together with slightly more force than he intended, but both are too far gone to care. Moaning her name, Tony wonders how every time it just seems a little bit better, a little bit more intense, a little bit more of every fucking thing.

Hips moving faster and faster, bodies now slick with sweat sliding together, muscles clenching, hands grasping, tension building so fast. So hard. So much.

God, he wants her more than his next breath.

With his breath coming in gasps, his heart pounding like a drum, Tony hooks his right arm under Pepper's knee, tilting her hips just enough to slide in just a little bit deeper. 

“Close?” Tony asks, sweat dripping in his eyes, stinging them, blurring his vision. Or it could be how she clamps around his cock, muscles rippling. 

“Now,” she hisses out, nails digging into his ass as she lets out a breathless moan, arching up to meet his hips which are moving fast and more jerkily out of control than ever. Still, whatever his body is doing – and a very small part of him understands that it is his body doing this; he has no more control over his body than he does the rising of the sun – it knows how to move with Pepper's. 

And hers with him. 

Because even as she's clamping around him, muscles taut and trembling, she keeps her eyes open, keeps him held tightly to her. And then it's too much and he tumbles over that last edge and the orgasm that has never been that far off crashes over him, causing spots to dance before his eyes as his muscles clench and he pours his release into her. 

When his mind finally starts to clear, Tony realizes that he's lying on top of Pepper, breath coming in harsh gasps, her own harsh pants echoing in his left ear and under his chest. He knows he's probably starting to crush her – she's so fine-boned, so small for all her height and indomitable personality – and he needs to move, but he can't quite get his body to obey.

And while he does manage to take some of his weight by bracing his forearms, he can't quite summon the will to tear his body from hers. The way they touch, his forehead nestled in the crook of her right shoulder, their chests plastered together, her hips cradling his, his cock, still mostly hard, inside of her, gives him a feeling of safety and peace he's never been able to find anywhere else. 

Had never known was missing until her. 

Despite acknowledging the fact his emotions are more than a little unsettled – probably because of the terror of nearly dying, the peace of accepting it, with his largest regret not being able to talk to Pepper one last time, then living after all – Tony doesn't want to feel any other way because that would mean he wouldn't be here with Pepper. 

“What has you thinking so hard?” Pepper asks softly, her right hand coming up to gently tunnel through his damp hair. 

“Life,” Tony answers, but the one word does little to express what he's feeling, the highs and lows, the exhilaration and peace, and threaded through it all, the overwhelming love he has for her. 

“Which part of life?” Pepper rarely takes his answers at face value these days. Not that she ever did, but now they have the type of relationship where she has the right to dig below any surface answers.

Sighing, Tony pushes himself up until he meets her eyes. Fuck, she's gorgeous: sweaty, red riding high on her cheeks, eyes still slightly out of focus, lips swollen from his kisses. Leaning down he kisses her long and slow. Not to arouse, but to try and convey even a fraction of what he's feeling right now. What he feels for her always.

She hums softly against his mouth, her tongue languidly tangling with his in an answering caress, a reciprocation of what he's not saying so very loudly. They spend long moments exchanging kisses, slow and deep, making his bones feel like mush and his cock start to feel like maybe it could go again.

As if reading his mind, Pepper skims her left hand down his back, fingers barely touching him as she traces the contours of his spine, the dip at the small of his back, then rises over the swell of his ass. Humming softly, he sucks her tongue into his mouth and swirls his tongue around hers.

When she shivers beneath him, Tony thinks that maybe Pepper wants to go again too, but then he skims a hand down her right flank over the rise and fall of her ribs and feels how cool her skin has become. 

Breaking their kiss with more than a little regret, Tony pulls back to look at her. Pepper's eyes open languidly and she smiles knowingly up at him. Once he might have kept his thoughts, his secrets from her, but no more. She knows he wants her again, even if parts of him are a little slow to react.

“Let's move this to bed,” Tony says, tucking a strand of hair behind her right ear. He gets lost in the feel of her – the way the strands of red-gold contrast against the pale white of her skin, the way both reflect the fire now burning low in the grate, the way both hair and skin are soft, but so very different in texture – and all he wants to do now is map her body and take note of all the differences in her textures.

“Bed,” Pepper echos, smiling up at him. It's soft and knowing and more than a little lust-filled. She nips his jaw and Tony can't tell if that's supposed to be an incentive to get him moving or an invitation to stay.

But she shivers again, and he can feel the way her skin puckers in evidence of the cold that is slowly seeping into him too. Still, it takes three tries before he actually slides off her and then he can't stand to go too far away from her. 

Kneeling close to her right shoulder, Tony swoops down and kisses her quickly, before rolling to his feet. He holds out a hand to her, which she accepts, and he pulls her to her feet. Naked, fingers entwined, they pad on silent feet to the master bedroom.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surely by now soundingsea must be sick of all the words I send her, but she's amazing and gets back my betas so quickly. Thanks again! Words are not enough, and gods know I have plenty or words. ;)

oft light comes through the French door that leads to the master bedroom. It is the quality of the light, rather than the light itself, that wakes Pepper; that and it's coming from an unexplained direction. It's an indirect light, though bright enough, and her muddled brain can't quite figure out where she is, the hazards of too many beds over too few weeks.

One thing that she is certain of is that Tony is next to her, warm and hard and there, something that has been missing all too often of late. Even when they share the same location, he is up at all hours either staring blankly at empty space or frantically working on projects she can't even begin to grasp. And this is after a decade of learning Tony-speak.

Opening her eyes slowly, Pepper takes in her surroundings and knows instantly where they are. 

Montreal. A break. A short vacation to recharge and reconnect. 

As carefully as she can, Pepper turns to face Tony, needing to see him. 

For once he seems to actually be sleeping peacefully and she lets out a sigh of relief. Her left hand goes his face, her fingers ghosting over the bruises that have faded to nothing but a shadow in her memory.

She's had more than her share of bad moments, of berating herself for not hearing her phone, of irritation at herself for not spending that night in Manhattan. Though it wasn't like she really had any other choice. And if she had stayed, Tony might not have read everything so thoroughly and might have missed something that would have cost lives.

Would have cost his life. Because, while, yes, people died – her heart clutches at the thought of Phil – and she is saddened by those who lost their lives, losing Tony would destroy her. She's come close a couple of times and knows that she would not handle it well.

At all.

She's not sure how long she lies there, just watching him, but the sun is stronger and his breathing changes as he slowly comes awake. His eyes open and there's none of the confusion that she had; he knows where he is, who he's with.

For a man who never even spent the night with his previous bed partners, never mind remembering their names afterward, he has never once seemed startled to find her at his side, never once not smiled the way he is now, full of meaning and memories and knowledge. 

Even that first morning after. Especially that first morning after.

That morning in Venice is one she'll treasure for the rest of her life not only for its intense sweetness, but also because Pepper is pretty sure that that was her last first morning after. There might come a time when she doesn't feel this all-consuming love for him – which she doubts, because even before it was love, he took up so much of her life that she could never picture it without him – or if he does something she can't forgive him for – though if he hasn't managed to yet, she doesn't think he will – but Pepper is pretty sure that the only thing he could do that she wouldn't be able to readily forgive is die on her.

Like gust of wind slamming a door, Pepper violently cuts that thought off.

Unable to stop herself, she reaches out and feathers her fingers along his forehead, caressing both bronzed skin and silky black hair. He feels softer than any other man she's ever touched and she knows that it's due to his daily vanity ritual, but can't fault the results. 

A thrum of desire starts to unfurl in her belly as she studies Tony's face, his lips at rest but no less appealing. Memories stir of more than one night when he threatened to make her come until she couldn't move, using only his mouth and fingers. Of the time in the office, late at night, when she'd needed to be there for a call with Japan, when he'd done everything he could to drive her mad using only his mouth on her throat and his lips to form darkly compelling words murmured softly into her ear while his fingers ran along the inseam of her pants. 

His breathing changes when her fingers lightly trace the shell of his ear, and his eyes pop open awake and engaged. There only ever seem to be two states for him – well, two now that he's not using illicit substances and the drinking is no more than the average person – awake and fully cognizant or asleep and unreachable. 

Smiling softly at him, Pepper gives her fingers free rein to follow the arch of his brow, sweep along the rise of his cheek, trace the line of his chin, then slip over the prickly yet soft outline of his goatee, before again running the pad of her index finger over his silky bottom lip.

His tongue darts out, tasting her, and Pepper feels a warm curl of desire wrap through her body. Despite all the months that have passed since Venice, she wants him as badly as she did when they were just starting. More so, because now she knows exactly what it is she's getting.

Leaning in, she captures Tony's mouth with hers; he opens instantly, welcoming her tongue, tangling his own with hers. She feels the reassuringly heavy weight of his right hand as he curls it around the jut of her hip, pulling her closer. His palm is warm and dry, and the skin-to-skin contact when her breasts nestle against his chest makes her shiver delicately.

There's an ever so slight hum of the arc reactor nestled between her breasts, but Pepper finds it infinitely comforting; it means he's alive, and that it's doing its job. Tony says that she's imagining the vibration, that if he doesn't feel anything then she sure as hell can't, but maybe he's just fully integrated with this technology; she's not sure.

It's barely something she registers on a conscious level any more. Not when his tongue is lazily seeking hers, mapping soft walls of her cheeks, the peaks and valleys of her teeth, the crest of her lips. Not when his hand comes between them to take the weight of her left breast, his fingers reverently running over the underside, up the swell, skating around her nipple, and coming to rest over her heart.

Pepper breaks their kiss, wanting to look him in the eyes as his fingers beat in tandem with her heart. Unlike in the car when he was restless and doing it to annoy her, the soft tapping of his fingers are more an echo of what's between them than him trying to aggravate her. She moves her own right hand to lie on his chest, the pad of her thumb resting on the silver ring of the arc reactor. Much like hers, his pulse is quicker than normal, but then so is their breathing. 

It takes very little for either of them to work the other up.

His fingers lightly trace the faint outline of the mark he left on her breast the night before and a thrill of desire wars with a mild blip of irritation. Desire wins out.

With a grin, Tony slides his hand back down until he can circle her nipple, over and over, never quite touching. The teasing is nothing new and Pepper knows she can go with it, reciprocate, or arch an eyebrow in such a way so that he knows to stop fucking around. 

This morning she decides to go for reciprocity. 

Giving him a coy smile, she leans in and nibbles on his lower lip. She knows what he likes: a sharp bite, a soothing swipe of her tongue, and seconds later, a long slow suck as she draws his lip into her mouth.

On her breast, his hand stills, then tightens nearly imperceptively in tandem with the suction on his lip. They easily fall into a rhythm together: she sucks his lower lip, he circles her nipple, she nips, he pinches, she slides her tongue over his lip and he glides his thumb over the hardened peak of her breast. 

She gasps, he moans. 

Wanting, needing more, Pepper splays her fingers wide over his pec, making note of his rapidly accelerating heartbeat, before scraping her nails ever so lightly down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, the smooth vee of his groin, until she reaches the hard length of his erection trapped between them. 

Teasing Tony now, as he had teased her earlier, Pepper barely lets her knuckles skim along the side of his erection as she continues her trek down, lower still, until she comes to rest at the crease where leg meets hip. Tony rocks against her, covering her lips with his, sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth in a none too subtle hint of what he wants her to do. Or, maybe, more, what he wants to do to her. 

His balls lie heavy on his inner thigh, and Pepper skims her fingers over them. The low, rumbling growl that starts deep in Tony's chest transfers from him to her, racing licks of fiery want through her veins and causing desire to pool between her own legs. Still, she doesn't hurry, doesn't stroke his dick, but continues to take the weight and measure of his balls: hot and ready in her palm. 

Tony drops his head to nestle in the crook of her neck, breath coming in fast pants now, his hand on her breast in a holding pattern with his thumb circling her nipple almost as an afterthought. As much as she know he wants to bury himself deeply inside her and pump for all he's worth – and there is a small part of Pepper that just wants him to fuck the hell out of her, just push her onto her back, slide into her, and bear down until she can't feel anything but the mattress and his hard body – she wants this to be a bit slower than it was last night. Memories of Venice play across her mind, and this trip feels similar even if there's more than months on the calendar and countless mornings after – not to mention an entire ocean – between the two cities. 

Tony's mouth latches onto the incredibly sensitive patch of skin just above her left collarbone. Though his teeth cause a gentle scrape that his lips soothe instantly, the fire that she has managed to bank thus far catches and burns beyond her control. There is always a low level of want between them just waiting to flare bright at a moment's notice and he's not only struck a match, he's used a whole container of lighter fuel.

Abandoning her skin, Tony's head comes up, breath puffing over her cheek in a fast ghost of a caress as his eyes lock on hers. Barely contained desire rages in his eyes, his jaw taut with the effort of not pushing for more. His control is frayed and anything more will snap it; there's a pleading beneath the desire and he's just barely restraining himself so that she can be the one to make the next move. For her to make it okay for him to let loose when the time comes. And the time has come – her lips quirk ever so slightly at the thought and she wishes she had the ability to share her double entendre with Tony as he gets such a kick out of her more base thoughts.

Whether he knows her thoughts, or if it's the expression on her face, Tony's whole body seems to quiver and his eyes nearly burn her alive with their intensity. 

Notice received, she thinks somewhere in the back of her mind. The time for teasing and playing is done, which is just as well, because Pepper can feel the start of her orgasm tautening her muscles.

Lifting her leg, Pepper slides her left thigh over Tony's hip. Shifting and sliding together, they angle their hips so that Pepper barely needs to guide Tony's dick before he's sliding into her. Slow, deep, and sure, and so fucking good. How can it still be so fucking good that Pepper wonders if she'll come before both of them have a chance to draw their next breaths?

From the way Tony is holding himself – steady, locked in place, but not still, not when tremors of want race from her body to his, or maybe it's from his to hers – and holding her to him with the hand that was on her breast now firmly clamped on her hip, Pepper knows that he's a small step away from trying to sink just that little bit deeper inside her before emptying himself into her. 

Totally unbidden by her, Pepper's inner muscles contract around Tony's dick and they both moan, rocking together despite the fact that there's really no space left between them. 

Her skin is starting to slick, or maybe that's his, and they glide together, chests slipping, thighs pressing. So much contact, so much pressure, so many nerve endings overloading but crying out for more. 

This, them, never gets repetitive, never feels old, no matter how many times she takes him, or he takes her, or like now, they take each other. Give each other.

His hand clutches at her hip, then moves to splay over the small of her back. holding her to him, holding her in place, reassuring himself that she's not going anywhere. Hitching her leg up higher on his thigh, Pepper presses her hand between his bicep and ribs until she can get her forearm pressed over his back, the wings of his shoulder blades pressing into her palm. 

Together they move ever so slightly, pulling away, coming back together, sliding and pushing, pressing and touching. The frenzy that was building hasn't stopped, but it has become contained, and they rock together, eyes locked but for brief, passionate kisses. 

She stays as silent as she can, reveling in this world, this bubble, they've managed to conceal themselves in this morning. The soft light bathes his skin and hers, turning the darker tones of his bronze and hers gold. When he pushes into her, Pepper can't help but love the way his muscles flex – he could pose next to a marble sculpture and not look out of place, though he is so much hotter, more alive than even something Michelangelo could have sculpted – all that strength and power and all of it hers for the moment. 

His hand leaves her back to insinuate itself between her thigh and his hip, moving her leg higher yet, opening her up more, giving him more room to move, to press, to slide. He angles his hips and when he's buried the deepest inside of her, he manages to put the most amazing pressure on her clit. 

It feels as if a current is going through her whole body, electric and powerful: her nerves hum, her body vibrates, her muscles tense. The pleasure is nearly overwhelming in its intensity, and still they're moving together, trying for closer, deeper, something, that last bit that will push, pull, or tip them right over the edge from coiled tension and aching want, to blissed relief and lax satiation. 

And then she's there. Or he's there. Or it's just fucking time. And the release that has been building in exponential proportions slams into her and it's all Pepper can do to cry out Tony's name and hang on as the orgasm swamps her system and nothing is left but feelings – pleasure, relief, ecstasy, love – and Tony. 

Always Tony.

Tony who is doing his best to ride out her orgasm, but just can't manage and his hips start to thrust jerkily into her as he reaches the end of conscious volition and his own orgasm takes control. 

She thinks he groans her name, but Pepper isn't sure because of the way her blood is still rushing through her system,making hearing anything beyond the pounding of her own pulse nearly impossible. 

When she opens her eyes – and really, Pepper has no idea when she closed them – Tony is watching her, breath still coming fast, his eyes roaming over her face like a touch. Sliding her hand over flesh made slick with sweat, Pepper mimics his path with the barest touch of her fingertips.

There are times when she wonders at the fact that this is her life. That she is here in bed with Tony Stark, that it wasn't a drunken stumble or an adrenalin-fueled reaction, but a conscious, intentional choice on both their parts. A choice that has taken some amazing turns the last couple of years. 

It's hard to believe the man Tony has become, the man she always wondered if he was, could be. And that he's chosen her, that she's let herself finally choose him. That together they are stronger and happier than she thought possible.

“I love you,” she says softly into the stillness between them. 

“So much, Pepper,” Tony murmurs, his voice a soft rasp, his eyes shining with intensity of the feelings behind the words.

As their bodies cool and the sun gets stronger, they lie there, her leg still draped over his hip, his hand now running back and forth over her thigh, as the world wakes up around them and they stay still, content, peaceful.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to the absolutely fantastic soundingsea for the beta. Any mistakes are mine.

By the time they finally leave their hotel, some clouds have covered the sky, but the sun is making a valiant effort to break through and there is still some blue showing. It's cooler outside than she thought it would be when they left the room. Not cool enough for a jacket, she doesn't think, but Pepper decides that she can if necessary buy one while walking around. Montreal might not be as big as New York, but there are still plenty of boutiques carrying fantastic clothes. 

“Where to?” Tony asks, as if he hadn't been standing right next to her when they'd gotten directions for breakfast from the concierge Pascal.

Pepper orientates herself on a mental map and heads away from the St. Lawrence River and up the slight hill. “We take a right on Notre-Dame.” 

Tony, ever tactile, and possessive, links his fingers with hers as they walk. For a man who really doesn't like other people touching him, he seems to have no problem with grabbing her. Not that Pepper really minds. At least not here, while on vacation, away from the world. 

They walk in silence to the café taking in the buildings; some were built centuries ago, others no more than a decade, but all seem to fit together.

Café Veritas is sleek and modern on the inside and smells wonderful. They slide onto comfortable leather bar stools and debate what constitutes breakfast versus dessert. 

“You know, I would think that it would be you arguing against having mostly sugar for the first meal of the day,” Tony says after they've placed their orders.

“It's not like I have crêpes every morning,” Pepper defends herself, cradling the cup containing her cappuccino as it's placed in front of her. Between their activities and some less than restful sleep, Pepper knows this will only be the first in many caffeinated beverages she'll drink today and wants to pace herself. 

“It's not the crêpes,” Tony says, downing his espresso with startling disregard for the steam coming off the liquid. “It's the chocolate and sauce and powdered sugar.”

“We all have our vices,” Pepper answers mildly, her mind already off the argument and on to how hungry she is despite the fairly substantial meal the night before. It hits her suddenly that she hasn't been eating all that regularly.

Well, Montreal has fantastic food, so if she's going to be making up for missed meals there really isn't a better place to be. 

“So,” Tony drawled, swiveling in his chair so that his knees bump into her left thigh. “What's the plan for the day?”

His right knee jiggles up and down and Pepper absently puts her hand on it to still his movement.

Taking a sip of her drink, Pepper gathers herself. She and Tony are very different when it comes to many aspects of life and traveling is most assuredly one of them. While she could happily lose herself in art museums and galleries, Tony would only last about an hour, and that is if he is under-caffeinated and maybe properly motivated with the promise of various treats, before she either has to hustle him out or he is asked to leave. 

It is amazing what someone with billions of dollars and a highly recognizable face can get away with and she doesn't want to find out exactly what the standards in Montreal are. 

Plus, she doesn't want this trip to be about what one or the other of them want to do individually, Pepper wants to spend time with Tony, not roam separately and meet up at some appointed time. Spending hours in Tony's company just being holds vast appeal at the moment. Usually, she isn't this clingy, just the opposite in fact – if anything, Tony is by far the clingy, possessive one – but her need to be near him, to exist in the same space as him, has ratcheted up to a whole new level since the battle. Since he carried a nuke into unknown parts of the galaxy to die and she didn't even answer her fucking phone.

“Hey, Pepper,” Tony calls her name softly, his right hand stroking soothingly over the sensitive skin of her inner right arm. “I didn't mean to ask such a serious question.”

“Sorry,” she says, shaking off her darker thoughts. Leaning in, she gives him a long, gentle kiss that does more to settle her than anything else could. He's here, he's relaxed, uninjured – as he well proved the night before, and this morning – and they have nearly two complete days to do whatever they want. Smiling into the kiss, Pepper swipes his lower lip with her tongue before breaking away. 

“Feel free to think whatever thoughts you want if that's the result.” Tony gives her a look filled with leering amusement, but she can see the lingering worry under it. Not wanting anything to get in the way of them just having fun, Pepper links her fingers with his, squeezing lightly before picking up her cup again. The heat of the porcelain has nothing on the warmth of Tony's skin on hers. 

“About twenty years ago,” Pepper says after taking a long sip of her cappuccino, “Montreal turned the stadium built for the Olympics into a biodome with several different climates and a lot of free-roaming animals.”

He gives her a long look. “Things are out, just walking around? Like tigers eating the tourists?”

“All the potentially dangerous animals are contained.” Tony actually looks a bit disappointed by that news.

In a quick move, he pulls out his phone from his hip pocket and she assumes he's googling her idea. There are several museums she would love to see, not to mention the boutiques and galleries that line the streets of Old Montreal and downtown, but more than that, she wants them to explore together. 

“They have several beavers that build a dam that we can see from above and below the water,” Tony says, not looking up. “Fucking awesome engineers,” he adds, grinning when she tsks over his language in public. 

“It'll probably be a bit crowded with families, but I think anywhere we go will have people.” She worries now about them getting hassled, about someone recognizing Tony and telling a friend, who tells another, who says something a bit too loudly, and then all hell breaks loose and they have to leave and both of their stress levels go through the roof.

“Eh, it'll probably mostly be families and kids.” And while kids do recognize him, it's more the suit than the man himself. 

Before she can say anything one way or the other, their food arrives and her stomach clenches; whether it's in hunger or low-level anxiety, Pepper's not sure.

“I can't believe you're going to eat all of that.” Tony eyes her plate dubiously. “Probably a good idea to go somewhere with a bunch of hyperactive people. You're going to need to burn off all of that sugar.”

“Any ideas?” Pepper asks, spearing a banana slice and smearing it through the chocolate sauce. She pops it into her mouth and moans in soft appreciation, not remembering the last time she had something so sinful for a meal. 

“Whole new set of ideas,” Tony says, voice low, eyes intent on her mouth. 

“I want to see some of the city while we're here,” Pepper says, and primly cuts a corner off of her crêpe making sure to get a small piece of banana and a dollop of chocolate sauce. 

“Seen one city, seen them all,” Tony tells her, his knee nudging her thigh as he grins wolfishly at her. “I think our room needs a more in-depth inspection for quality assurance.”

Pepper snorts and swallows. “We can perform several inspections later. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

To encourage him, Pepper forks an asparagus on his plate and deftly cuts the top off. 

“Hey!” Tony protests. “That's mine!”

“Technically it's not paid for yet, so it still belongs to the restaurant,” Pepper informs him with a smug smile. 

“Keep away from my food.” Tony swivels back so that he's facing the bar and protectively puts an arm between his plate and hers.

Grinning to herself, Pepper turns her attention back to her truly wonderful breakfast.

# # #

It turns out that the Biodôme is filled with people, but they're mostly families with kids outnumbering the adults at least two to one. Plus, the place is big enough that they aren't tripping over anyone. Well, except when she spots the hard-to-find sloth hanging out in one of the trees high above the exit of the tropical zone; a crowd gathers then. However, if anyone recognizes Tony, no one approaches them and for that Pepper is incredibly grateful.

When they stop to look at the beavers, unusually active for nocturnal creatures, Tony waxes poetic about the wonders of their engineering skills and ponders the viability of having a habitat built in the Stark Tower renovations.

Pepper quickly puts an end to that idea. 

They risk their luck and take the Métro back towards their hotel, jostling and joking and just being free of the weight of their normal lives.

Hand in hand they emerge from the Métro stop at Place D'Armes – which Tony finds wildly appropriate and keeps suggesting areas he could buy and naming things with two meanings – and into the square where sun has finally broken through the clouds. 

Sliding on her sunglasses – Tony never took his off even when they were well under ground – Pepper wonders what to do next. She wouldn't mind just wandering around, maybe renting a bike and seeing some of the city along the St. Lawrence River.

“Wanna get some lunch?” Tony asks. It's a little past two, but they'd had breakfast around ten and now that he points it out, Pepper realizes that she is a little hungry.

“Sure.” They wait for a light to signal they can cross, though none of the locals seem to care that the red hand of not walking is glowing strong. In LA there is a pretty hefty fine in most cities for jay-walking – especially Malibu and Venice – but apparently not in Montreal; in New York you'd probably get run over by a cab. “What are you in the mood for?” she asks, watching in fascination as a group of teenagers weaves through traffic in a real life game of frogger with neither drivers nor pedestrians seeming to be at all concerned at how close vehicles come to humans. 

“Poutine,” he says, bouncing on his toes.

“The things you eat,” she mutters. She knows he burns a ridiculous amount of calories, both in the suit and just keeping in shape for the suit, but still. Add to that the wide mix of health-conscious vs fratboy diet, and it sometimes makes her head spin.

“C'mon, what could be better than French fries, gravy, and cheese curds?” he asks her with relish. “I even asked at the front desk where a good place would be.”

Not entirely clear when he'd had the chance to speak to anyone at the front desk, let alone find a place for poutine, Pepper raises her eyebrows at him, but Tony just grins charmingly and pulls her along.

“Fine.” There's bound to be something she'll eat there, even if it's only fries and a coffee. 

If it weren't for the cherry wood shingle hanging outside with 'Montréal Poutine' written in simple white letters with a fleur-de-lis carved underneath, she never would have thought that this was anything besides another apartment entrance. The skinny, blue wooden doors are both open and Pepper has a hard time believing that a kitchen, let alone a restaurant, can be hidden between a tourist trap selling everything from maple syrup to t-shirts and what appears to be abandoned apartments. Though, on second thought, judging by the multi-colored fliers framing the apartment doors, maybe not.

“Hey, they have beer too,” Tony says after studying the sign. 

“Because you are known for your love of beer,” Pepper intones sagely. He is, of course, nothing of the sort. He'll occasionally drink beer with James when they're playing video games or watching a movie, but as a rule scotch is his drink of choice. Sometimes wine if he's joining her. 

“I think beer would be perfect with poutine.”

Pepper is highly dubious that anything would be good let alone perfect with poutine, but she keeps her thoughts to herself. The tension that Tony was wearing like a second skin appears to have slowly melted off of him throughout their day and she's happy to let well enough alone.

Still, she won't be eating poutine just to keep him happy. In the last five minutes she's become more than a little hungry, so she hopes they have something she'll consider an actual meal on the menu. 

There's a surprisingly charming patio out back, so with beers in hand they commandeer a table under a yellow umbrella, sit back, and start discussing Tony's newest brainstorm: a space station resort. 

“Apart from anything else, Pepper, I'll get to set all the regulations!” Tony is midway through expounding on how 'awesome' it would be to have a holiday resort in space. “I won't have to worry about the US government, hell, any government poking their noses into my business with what they think is for the best.”

Pepper is more than a little relieved when the waitress comes over to take their food order. Also, the option of avocado fries and a salad of mixed greens topped with hot goat cheese sounds perfect for a midday meal. The waitress takes Tony's order as well, and walks off.

“Tony,” Pepper says, trying not to chide, but knowing the tone is in her voice anyway. 

“What? I'm hungry, plus I couldn't really choose between poutine with bacon and a smoked meat pizza. Montreal is famous for its smoked meat.”

“There's no way you can eat all that food.”

“Bet me?” Tony asks, sporting a look in his eyes she's seen too many times before with some truly spectacularly awful results.

“No, but if you get too full to want to move, I'll just have to take care of myself tonight.” She waits a beat, watches his eyes lose focus then zero in on her with a heated intense look. “For dinner.”

“Mean, Potts. So. Very. Mean.”

Pepper gives him a long assessing look. “I know how to take care of myself; I just prefer having you around.” Leaning in, she nips at his bottom lip then lounges back in her chair. 

“If you want, I could share with you.” His eyes rake over her with promises of things best done in private. “It's always better when I do it with you.” He smirks. “Share, that is.”

“Oh, I know.” She drops her left hand down until it settles on his right knee. Lazily, she scratches her nails lightly across the soft weave of the denim. “When we work together, we can reach almost any goal.”

“Think we can finish all my food?” Tony asks, though from the way he's following her hand as it slowly creeps higher on his thigh, Pepper doubts he cares one way or another about the food they've just ordered.

“Maybe.” Stilling her hand, she waits until his gaze drags up to meet hers again. “And if not, there's always all the next times.”

“All of them?” Suddenly serious, he pulls off his sunglasses for the first time that day and holds her eyes, searching. 

“All of them,” Pepper affirms. They've skirted around the subject of The Future for a while now. And in some ways it feels like they don't ever really need to have this talk. She knows Tony is with her for the long haul, just as she can't imagine a time when she's not at his side, but things have shifted between them since the fight in Manhattan. Since the last thing he wanted to do before he died was talk to her and she'd missed the call. 

“Good,” he says, his leg bouncing under her hand in a jittery, rhythm-less beat. “Good,” he states again, lacing his fingers through her left hand.

They sit in a companionable silence, sipping their beers until their lunch arrives smelling wonderful and looking amazing. And she has to admit, after her first forkful of poutine, that while the combination of cheese curds, brown gravy, and fresh-cut french fries might sound and look slightly revolting, it tastes amazing. 

She helps him finish his meal.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whatever reason, I couldn't get on to AO3 by using my netbook at home and this is the first chance at work I've had.
> 
> At any rate, thanks again to the wonderful soundingsea for the beta.

“But, it's so, so girly!” Tony exclaims as they walk along Rue de la Commune, interlaced fingers swinging slightly between them. 

“You don't have to come,” Pepper puts in, a little annoyed that he's making such a fuss. It's not like she's asking him to go shoe shopping with her – which he's done several times since Venice – or to the salon – though what that man spends on personal grooming products rivals the GNP of most mid-sized countries – or something equally 'girly'. No, she wants to take a ride in one of the horse-drawn carriages, calèche, she mentally corrects herself. 

During lunch, the family next to them – a couple with their teenaged son and daughter – were talking about what fun they'd had on their tour, all the random factoids the calèche driver had shared with them, the fun of seeing the city from a carriage as it rolled over the cobblestone streets. 

Tony, not what one would ever call nostalgic for times gone by, even by his own admission, is not nearly as enthralled with the idea as Pepper is. 

“Look, why don't you take a seat at one of the pubs and have a drink, and I'll take a thirty minute tour and meet you there,” Pepper offers. As a compromise, it's not half bad and Pepper hopes Tony will go for it. If he gets mulish – a word she knows he'd hate being associated with him, but in her mind it has a much nicer sound than spoiled brat – she worries that the whole tone of this trip will change.

And they both so need some time to just be together without stress or the hard feelings that seem to be swirling around them like so much fog since the attack on Manhattan. She's not sure why she wants to him to come with her, or why she wants to ride in a horse-drawn carriage, but she does, and she wants him with her. 

“You really want to go?” Tony asks, but instead of sounding skeptical or derogatory, his voice is calm and open.

“Yes.” Pulling him to a stop, Pepper looks at him. “I think it would be nice, relaxing, and a fun way to see the city. Well, this part of the city.”

“Okay,” he concedes. “Let's go see a man about a horse.”

# # # 

As it turns out, it isn't a man but rather a young woman who ends up being the driver of their calèche. Madeline easily handles Bijou, a beautiful bay with two white stocks on her forelegs, often turning around to face them as she relates various bits of history and trivia of a city steeped in a past that goes back over four hundred years. 

And while Tony might be all about looking forward and not dwelling on what came before – or so he claims, but really he spent months flying around in a suit looking for SI weapons sold on the black market while he was too busy whoring and partying to pay attention to what was happening in his own company, so, yeah – he seems to get a kick out of the more lurid and improbable stories.

“Wanna walk around at night and see if we can spot the ghost of the little girl who was accidentally buried under the pile of plague-infested bodies?” Tony inquires as he slings his arm over her shoulder and pulls her snugly to his side. 

“Yes, Tony, that's exactly how I want to spend our last night in Montreal,” Pepper says dryly. 

“I think there might be some sarcasm in your voice there, Miss Potts, and you know how I feel about sarcasm.”

“Turned on?” Pepper asks, leaning in to nip his earlobe. 

“Right now, yeah, pretty much.” His hand comes dangerously close to her breast, but when she bites him a bit harder he jerks back. “Fuck, Pepper, no need to get so mean.”

“Rules and public places” she says primly, though her hand slides from her lap onto his thigh in a location coming dangerously close to crossing the line of socially acceptable public touching. 

“I think after all these years you know how I feel about rules, Pepper.” While Tony's tone evokes the devil-may-care playboy, his eyes are serious and filled with dark promises.

“Oh, I think you can follow some of my more personal rules.” Pepper lets her eyes rove over his face, making note of the changes the years and experiences have put there. Some changes are good; some she wishes hadn't come at such great cost. 

“Rules are made to be broken,” he argues back, his fingers lightly tracing up and down the soft and highly sensitive skin on the side of her neck, making her wish for his mouth to be there instead of his fingertips, before caressing her upper arm.

“And often, broken rules have some fairly dire consequences,” Pepper promises. Leaning towards him until her lips brush his ear, Pepper speaks softly. “Just as following them can lead to great rewards.”

Around her bicep, Tony's fingers hesitate, tightening on her cotton-covered arm. It's always a bit of a thrill to know she can do this to him, to know that even after they've done together just about everything either of them has even hinted at wanting to try – and, for the record, she's all for the blindfold and silk scarves again – that she can still get a rise out of him.

Both literally and figuratively. 

“Just so I can make an informed decision,” Tony says after a moment, “what exactly are we talking about in terms of punishment and reward?”

Seems Tony's mind isn't far off from her own train of thought. Pity the scarves are back in LA. And that the headboard in their hotel room isn't conducive to that sort of activity.

“And,” Tony breaks into her thoughts, “remember, you no longer get to punish me with boring meetings and never-ending memos.”

“Oh, I think as CEO I can make yours a command attendance at any number of meetings and have any number of departments send you memos that require your specific attention,” she responds blandly.

“Why, Miss Potts, you're just mean.” Tony slumps against the padded back of the calèche with a huff.

“Don't ever forget that.” She smiles at him and doesn't bother to hide the triumph or the threat. “But, in this case, I think a suitable punishment would be to take you with me as I go shopping for lingerie--”

“So not a punishment,” Tony cuts in.

“It is when I won't wear it for you any time in the near future, and when I do, you won't be able to do anything about it, but you'll know for certain what it looks like on me and how you felt to see me wear it. You'll know that I picked it out with you.”

The look of genuine horror on Tony's face pulls a peal of laughter from her. In front of them on the raised seat, Madeline's head pivots around and she grins at them both. Though she might have heard their conversation, Pepper doesn't think it's too likely as they are currently going down a main street with two lanes of traffic in either direction, with enough vehicles to require Madeline's full attention, and with the constant rumble of engines muffling the low tones of their conversation.

“I'll be good!” Tony promises fervently. 

“But you haven't even heard what your reward would be.”

“Don't care.” 

Giving him a wide grin, Pepper settles against him to enjoy the rest of their calèche ride and think up a good reward. After all, she's always found the best way to get Tony to do what she wants or needs is to subtly steer him with rewards. Okay, most times the rewards are far from subtle. And these days, both of them usually end up with smiles. 

# # #

After the calèche ride they wander throughout the cobblestoned streets, stopping in the occasional store to look at local art, pausing at boutiques featuring designers from throughout Quebec, and, when the mood strikes, popping into a bar for a drink. Along the way, Tony buys more maple syrup than anyone rightly should and Pepper is more than a little leery of what exactly he intends to do with so much.

From the look in his eyes as he buys out yet another store's supply and has it sent over to their hotel, she feels it's probably better not to ask.

They're both carrying bags with logos from a dozen different shops between them. While Pepper might have an eye for shoes and art, Tony has an eye for everything and doesn't seem to care if what he's buying has any practical uses. His ability to acquire so much random stuff has always fascinated and vaguely horrified Pepper over the years.

Often the horror is more than vague. Today he is limited to the fact that Pepper mandated early on – after the first maple syrup acquisition – that Tony could only buy what he himself could carry. Tony argued that the rule came into effect after the maple syrup was purchased, so therefore maple syrup was exempt. 

Figuring he'd bought all the maple syrup he wanted, Pepper agreed. Turns out she'd vastly under-estimated Tony's need for maple syrup. 

“What do you want to do for dinner?” Tony asks as they meander along the waterfront. They'd walked all the way to the Jacques Cartier Bridge – where Tony made derisive comments about the state of the bridge's infrastructure and how it was a miracle that the whole thing hadn't yet fallen down – and up and down any of the side streets that had caught their interest.

Montreal, to Pepper's mind, is some sort of mesh of Europe and New England; old brick buildings and new sleek glass ones give homes to business that have been in operation longer than many states have been around, along with some that are less than a decade old. Everything and everyone seem to coexist happily, bustling along in the cooling May evening. Pepper freely admits to herself that part of her view might be because of the way she feels and she's fine with that. It's not like the opinions she's forming here will have any sort of impact on her life away from this break she and Tony have created. 

“Pepper?” Tony squeezes her hand a bit to get her attention. 

“Sorry, mind wandering.” She reaches back to see if she caught what he asked and is happy to know that she still has the ability to retrieve what Tony has said even when she isn't fully paying attention. “Dinner. Not sure.” It's only then that she notices that the sun has sunk low on the horizon. “What time is it?”

“Nearly seven, I think.” Twisting their joined hands, Tony checks the face of his watch. “Points for me! Three minutes to seven.”

While she's not hungry, she's not full anymore either, so dinner would probably be a good idea. Usually when it comes to meal time and she's not actively hungry, Pepper just skips them. Not the most healthy of choices, but usually the easiest given her hectic schedule. 

“Have anything in mind?” Pepper knows he's been looking up all sorts of stuff on his phone when they stopped for drinks or to entertain himself when something in one of the boutiques had caught her eye and she wanted to try it on.

“The Hunting and Fishing Club looks good.”

“Tony,” Pepper warns, her voice letting him know plainly that if he's screwing with her, or taking her to some actual hunting and fishing club, then he's on his own.

“No, really, that's what the name translates to. I'm not going to try the French because you always make fun of me when I speak it. It's got lots of reviews.” As if to prove himself, Tony fishes out his phone and one handed, calls up whatever he'd been reading earlier. “See, it has great reviews online.”

“I've seen more than one false story online...” She lets her words trail off with a grin.

“Look, I told you, I wasn't naked!” Tony protests. “It just looked that way because of the color of the linen pants I was wearing. I never wore them under the Suit again.”

“Let me see.” They stop on a street corner and Tony hands her his phone.

He's not wrong; there are plenty of great reviews on a variety of websites. And, as long as it's not vegetarian one wants, the food seems pretty appetizing. 

“So?” Tony asks, rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently. 

“We're going to have to go back to the hotel and change.” Luckily, they're only a couple of blocks away. “It's Saturday night, so we might want to call first and see if there are any tables available.”

Tony gives her an incredulous look. “Pepper, you might have somehow hit your head when I wasn't looking, so maybe you've forgotten, but I'm Tony Stark.” He give her a smug smile. “There'll be a table for us.”

“Let me call,” is all she says. 

It turns out she does have to use his name, but they get a reservation for eight-thirty. Which, with both of their grooming habits, is barely enough time.


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful soundingsea for the beta!

The Maitre d' shows them to their table as soon as they arrive – barely two minutes late. While he is courteous, he is also reserved and doesn't even hint that he knows who they are. Or, really, who Tony is.

It feels as if their time in Montreal has been some sort of gift from the universe, and if she weren't as pragmatic as she is, Pepper would wonder if karma is somehow returning the favor of Tony having such a large part in saving the world. That Tony nearly made the ultimate sacrifice – that he didn't, but was willing to, is something Pepper still wrestles with, and thinks she will for the rest of their hopefully long lives – and didn't ask for anything in return, his gift, well theirs, is to have a weekend together without being recognized, without being hounded by the media, by people wanting autographs, by women throwing themselves at him. To have time in a bubble where they can just be a couple – albeit an incredibly wealthy couple, one of whom is the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world, the other of whom owns it, oh, and flies around in a red and gold suit saving kittens and the world – and can just relish this small bit of time to spend together, a break from real life. 

“Want to get a bottle of wine?” Tony asks as he taps his fingers on the tabletop.

“You don't want something stronger?”

“No. I'm in a pretty mellow mood and don't want to tip over into sloppy.” He grins at her. “Plus, I officially call 'date' on tonight, so, lady's choice.”

Calling 'date' was a joke they'd come up with the second month of them coming back from Venice, when every single one of their planned dates was interrupted or flat out canceled by work or Iron Man. Tony jokingly said at the end of an impromptu dinner out in Shanghai after they successfully negotiated a large contract that it was their first official date. 

She argued back that retroactively calling something a date didn't make it one. With a gleam in his eyes, Tony waded in and between kisses and not so subtle caresses they'd debated the whole way back to their suite. 

In the end, Pepper conceded the point.

“Fine, but just because you called it don't mean you get to choose where we go after.”

“Fine,” Tony huffs back in a way that makes Pepper wonder if he does indeed have plans for after their meal. 

“Red or white?”

Glancing at the menu, Pepper decides that the items that appeal to her the most would go best with red and tells him so.

“Something full-bodied and dark,” she adds, letting him pick names and regions he likes while she give the menu a closer study. Occasionally, Tony pokes at his phone and she assumes he's looking up various bottles and vineyards.

“These guys are making a hell of a profit with the mark-up on these wines,” Tony informs her after several minutes.

“Well, unless you can find us a bottle of wine that will be easy to come by and not in any way piss me off, that also suits your newly-acquired thrifty ways, choose one from the list.”

“I think this one looks good and once again, I'm not going to try to pronounce it.” He gives her a mocking smile. “I know my limits. Plus, I don't like it when you make fun of me.”

“Hmm,” Pepper hums, giving him a long look and trying to suppress a smile. “You are good at many things, but knowing your limits isn't one of them.”

“In my defense, most limits people set are because they just don't think big enough.” Sending her a wicked look, his finger graze over hers where she holds the menu. “These days, I fly around in a suit that comes when I call it; I think the parameters on my limits are fairly broad.” 

“And yet, you still can't seem to remember the limit of coffee to consume in a twenty-four hour period.”

“But it's so much fun to bounce!”

Pepper raises her eyebrow and turns her attention back to the menu. 

From what she remembers, the foie gras poêlé got fantastic reviews online and sounds divine. Now all she needs is a main course. There is what is essentially surf and turf, an obvious choice, but also something she can get just about anywhere. The guinea hen sounds promising with glazed pair slices and caramelized onions and a side of mashed turnips. 

The Bordeaux that Tony select, a 2003 Chateau Pichon-Longueville Baron, will accompany her meal very nicely. 

As is the case in all fine restaurants with premiere clientele, a server materializes as soon as they set their menus aside. 

“How are things?” Tony asks once they've placed their orders.

“In what way?” Pepper wonders what Tony wants her to say; the spectrum of what qualifies as 'things' is nearly incomprehensibly broad; and with Tony, it's best to be as specific as possible.

“With you, with work, with life?”

“Tony, we live together. I see you nearly every day; you know what's going on in my life.”

His face is set in serious lines; his eyes hold that vulnerable and intense quality she's learned to associate with comments from him that are important, if quiet and sometimes stated offhandedly. 

“I mean, how are you doing with, you know, the destruction of Manhattan, with being part of the cleanup.” Fiddling with his fork, Tony looks down for a moment, then straight into her eyes. “Of the fact that your lover almost died and he never really said he's sorry for that.”

In her chest, Pepper's heart stutters and then races. She's very good at pushing stuff aside, at not thinking too long and hard about Tony and how his actions directly affect her on an emotional level. At the start, it was a method of self-preservation, of divorcing herself from her employer and all his careless, dangerous, selfish, foolish acts. When he went missing, it was much harder, no, impossible to push aside the fact that he left a gaping hole in her life, but she managed to shove aside all those tangled emotions when he came home, and got on with the business of living her life. Their lives. 

In some ways, now that he's Iron Man, she does the same thing. Only she doesn't fool herself any longer that his actions don't have direct consequences for her emotional well being. Hell, her life. Still, dwelling on the unchangeable has never been something she's good at and changing now would do neither of them any good.

One of the reasons they work so well together is that she can push aside what he does; it still hurts, it still terrifies her, it still makes her proud, and it still devastates her, but there's no use in dwelling on something that won't change. It would drive her nuts and be the end of them as a couple. 

Of them as probably anything but strangers. 

Opening her mouth to tell him some of that, Pepper shuts it quickly when the sommelier strides up to their table with their bottle of wine. She goes through the ritual of opening the bottle, showing them the cork, informing them that the wine should be left to breathe for at least half an hour, and offers them both a glass of one of her favorite wines,compliments of the house.

Tony waves off the offer – much to the tightly-masked vexation of the sommelier – and points to Pepper to do the tasting. While some part of her swirls, sniffs, sips, then swallows, the only thing that her brain really registers is that the wine is not vinegar. After Pepper gives her nod of approval, the sommelier pours some wine into both their glasses then fades into the background.

“What I mean, is, I guess, I know you're not okay,” Tony says quickly. “Fuck, who could be after that? I'm not okay, I can't imagine it from your side, but I want you to know that if you need to talk or something, I'm here.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, before taking a long drink of his wine. “Or, if you don't want to talk to me – because hey, while it is all about me, it's how me is making you feel and maybe talking to me about me isn't—”

“Tony!” Pepper barks, cutting off his diatribe midway through. While, yes, they do need to talk, and maybe to acknowledge what they rarely do – that Tony's chosen alter ego will most likely get him killed, and sooner rather than later – he's winding himself up and her heart is pounding right along with his words ,and this is a conversation they need to have as calmly as possible.

And maybe not in a crowded restaurant – even if the tables are spaced for maximum privacy – so she reaches across the table to trap his left hand with her right, stopping the mad drumming he started somewhere around 'fuck'. 

“Tony.” This time when she says his name, her voice is pitched low and filled with a sternness to get his attention akin to the tone she used to use to get him to focus on her when his mind was on anything but the task she needed him to do. 

“It's just, I don't want...” He trails off and really looks at her; his whole body stills.

“We could talk what happened, in terms of the mechanics, the strategies, or we could pick apart how it made me feel when I watched you fly to what I was sure was going to be your death, or how you felt when you wanted your last minutes to be with me in whatever way possible and I didn't pick up the phone.” Pausing, she gauges his reaction, but his face is expressionless. Not, she realizes with some relief, because he is hiding what he feels, but more he's waiting to hear what she has to say before responding. “And it's not that I don't think we need to talk about those. Well, the last few rather than the actual strategies and whatnot of the battle, but I think we should both be ready for that.” And here she pauses because usually when she holds back emotionally Tony either retreats or pesters her until she wants to strangle him. “And I don't think that this time, for me, is right here, right now.”

Not when she can barely think about what happened, about what Tony was willing to do, to save as many people as he could, without feeling like crying. Not when she failed him in the one thing he wanted right before his potential death. It hurts too much. While the physical injuries have healed, the ones on both their psyches are fresh, still seeping pain and anguish. 

“When?” His face is still blank, but his fingers have tightened around hers.

“It's not something I can put a time frame on; you know that.” Taking a deep breath, Pepper mentally prods again at the raw anguish that's still left over from that day. “Give me, give us, this weekend. I just want to be with you, without the Iron Man or CEO personas we've be wearing, even with each other, the last few weeks.”

“All right, but this is something I think I, we, need to talk about.” He's so serious, so intense in a way she's not used to seeing from him. And more open than she's ever seen him in public, which tells her just how much this means to him. “I need to talk about it,” he adds, looking down at where their hands are intertwined against the crisp white of the tablecloth. 

“What's wrong?” Pepper asks, tightening her fingers on his. Tony so very, very rarely needs to talk. Even when he should, even when his memories have him prowling their home, he rarely gives in and tells her what's wrong without quite a bit of prodding from her.

“Nothing,” he tells her with a bit of a shrug. “Not really, I just....” Tony lets his words drift off as their waiter comes carrying their appetizers.

Reluctant to let the moment go, Pepper is tempted to give the attentive young man the same glare she uses on over-persistent reporters or under-performing employees. But before she can decide whether to do it or not, he's sliding their plates in front of them and wishing them a good meal, then melting back into the din of the restaurant.

Still, she doesn't let go of Tony's hand, but holds it even when he tries to tug free. “What's wrong?” she asks again. It's only now that she wishes that she used something besides his name with him, that there was an endearment that was just between them, something soft and reassuring and utterly private to catch his attention and let him know that he has her complete focus. But she's never really been one for nicknames, while Tony assigns nicknames to those who mean the most to him, but the only time he uses an endearment is when he can't remember a person's name.

Her unease grows as he studies their interlaced fingers intently. And she wonders what he'd do if she called him love or babe, or something that doesn't feel wrong on her tongue. 

There have been many women called baby, sweetie, cutie, hot stuff, and the like over the years, but she has always been 'Pepper' or 'Miss Potts' to him. Never Virginia. Just as he's always been 'Tony' or 'Mr. Stark' to her. Sometimes asshole and fucker, but that's only in the privacy of her own head, and those would be wildly inappropriate right now.

“Tony?” Is what she settles on. All she really has, and she tries to infuse his name with as much assurance and love as possible.

“It's just, I don't know, a vague feeling of uneasiness.” He gives her a rueful smile. “Like I left the stove on at home, the door unlocked, the water running.”

“You don't cook, the doors are part of the most sophisticated security system in the world and lock themselves when we leave, and the water conservation ideas you've implemented at home mean we barely waste a drop of water.” That diatribe gets a grin from him, but she can still see the shadows lurking in his eyes. “Can you define or point to what's troubling you the most?”

This might not be keeping things light and happy, but as it turns out, if he needs this, then she really doesn't want him to sublimate his openness with the mostly carefree face he shows the world.

“Like I said, just general uneasiness.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It's like I'm waiting for an attack, but I don't know from where.”

Treading carefully, as this is so far out of her area of expertise – not that she didn't do a whole lot of reading on PTSD, on combat and kidnap victims returning to their lives, on people who had been tortured, on claustrophobia, on loss and grief and anger when Tony came back from Afghanistan, and really all the reading did was make her worry more and feel even less adequate to help him – Pepper wades in.

“Do you think it's left over from the battle specifically, like an echo, or more that there's something you've missed and your brain is slowly sorting through the amazing amount of new data that was thrown at you in an incredibly short period of time?”

“Either. Both. I honestly can't tell you, Pepper, except that I don't feel comfortable in my own skin most of the time.”

“Is there anything I can do?” If he'd let her, if it at all possible, she'd take whatever is eating at him into herself. He's been through so much the last few years, so much pain, so much punishment, so much betrayal, that she just wants to help however she can. It's a wonder he hasn't retreated completely into his lab and never come out again.

“Not really.” He searches her face as if she holds the solution and Pepper wishes that she could truly help him. “Just be here. With me.”

“Always.” She smiles softly at him. 

“Always?” Tony asks, as if the last four years aren't proof of that. He needs the words, often more than she does. 

“Always,” Pepper affirms.

“Want to make it legal?” 

It takes a few seconds for his meaning to sink in and everything in Pepper freezes, then takes off at a million miles an hour. Her thoughts scatter, her heart pounds, and she can't form any words.

“What?!” Pepper finally manages to get out.

“Not quite the response I was going for,” Tony mutters, his eyes flat and all emotions hidden. No one but her would have known the smile was fake. “But, it's good to know how to flabbergast you for future reference.” 

“What?” Pepper asks again, desperately trying to grab hold of any thoughts to form a coherent sentence and to get rid of that horrible facade Tony now firmly has in place. 

“Look, it's no big deal.” He smiles in the self-deprecating way of his. “Forget I said anything.”

“No.” Reaching for her wine, Pepper downs what's left. It's both a blessing and a curse to be here – at an upscale restaurant as VIPs – as the sommelier comes and swiftly refills her glass and she has to wait for the woman to retreat before she can do more than look at him in bewildered shock. 

“Obviously the idea of getting married is a bad one.”

“No.” Why the hell can't she manage anything else?

“Yeah, I kinda think it is. No one should go quite as pale as you did or look quite as horrified. At least not without a giant space monster chasing them.” His joke falls flat and it's his effort to nonchalantly brazen through that finally clicks her brain back into gear.

“What I mean is, why now? Why this sudden urge to get married?”

It's not as if the idea is abhorrent to her – they've been living together for a while now, with complete commitment on both sides – it's just that she's never considered that they needed a piece of paper to make what they have valid. 

“It's not so sudden,” he informs her and she can tell by the look he's giving her that he's speaking the truth. “I won't say that I'd ever really considered marriage before the last year or so.” The way his lips quirk, Pepper knows Tony is about to say something that's going to annoy her. “Never particularly saw the point of shackling yourself to one person.”

“Of course not,” Pepper says dryly. “Why settle for one floor when there's a whole tower for the elevator to ride?”

“Ouch, touché.” Scowling at her, Tony finishes off his own wine, but Pepper can see the lines of tension that formed around his mouth and eyes smoothing away as he starts to relax.

Once again, the sommelier strides over to their table to refill a glass.

“Back to why you're considering shackling yourself to me,” Pepper says when they're alone again.

“I've been thinking about what would have happened if I hadn't come back,” he says baldly. “What that would mean, legally, if, when, I die.”

Breath chokes up in Pepper's throat as Tony's words hit her like a physical blow. They so very rarely even allude to his death – not since a very frank, very loud, very hard discussion about how the palladium had been poisoning him – and to hear him state this so starkly makes her heart clutch in terror.

“Tony,” she gets out, suddenly wishing this conversation were over, that whatever emotional minefield lies ahead of them was behind them and that they were enjoying what promises to be a well-prepared and tasty meal.

Maybe he's not the only one who's good at sublimating and putting on a good facade. Maybe more than maybe. 

“It's not like I'm planning on kicking off any time soon,” Tony tells her, trying to joke over the heavy mood that now envelops them. “But let's face it, Pepper, I'm not exactly leading a lifestyle that leads towards old age.”

And there it is; the borrowed time that Tony is living on, has been living on for the better part of four years.

“You want to get married so that when you die, it's easier for me legally?” Pepper finally asks, her stomach clenching at both the thought of his death and the matter-of-fact reason he wants to marry her.

“That, and I don't want any question in anyone's mind as to your place in my life.” His eye seem to be trying to convey a million things to her, but Pepper is still in too much shock to pick up on even one. “And, my place in your life.”

“And because of that, you want to get married?” Logic is starting to push through the more primal emotions swirling inside of her, and Pepper can slowly start to sort through the mire to why Tony might be asking her to marry him.

“Yeah.” He grins at her, but the uncertainty is poorly masked. “It'll be fun. Shock the hell out of the board, confuse the masses, and it'll have the added benefit of making everything I plan on doing to you tonight totally legal in the future.”

“Yes, because everyone knows how concerned with legalities you are,” Pepper says dryly. It's an automatic jab, and does wonders to settle her.

“It's just, I think it would be better if there were legal documents stating outright what we are to each other.”

“We know what we are to each other; we don't need a piece of paper.”

Tony sighs, and stares down at the table. “If you really don't want to get married, then we don't have to. I just thought...”

“It's not something that's ever really mattered to me, but I can see it matters to you.” Leaning across the table, she lets go of his hand and cups his chin until their eyes meet and hold. For several long seconds she studies his face, wonders if this is in fact such a sudden idea, or one he's been dwelling on for a while and is just now getting the courage to bring it up. History has proven that when it comes to the hard emotional discussions, Tony's not exactly leading the way. Nor is she, for that matter. 

“I didn't think it mattered to me either, but it seems it does.”

Turning the idea over and over in her head, Pepper tries to study it from every angle. It would mean tying herself to Tony for the rest of her life – barring what would surely be the messiest divorce in the world – but it's not like she hasn't already committed herself to him, to them. And now that she thinks about it, she might be his medical proxy and have the legal documents that say she's in charge if he's incapacitated, but documents can be 'lost' and, more often than not, ignored when enough money and power come into play. 

And while she might not need that piece of paper personally, it wouldn't be such a bad idea to have it publicly. Globally. 

It won't really change anything for her, except to make her taxes way more complicated to file next year. 

“If you want to get married, then let's get married.” She grins at him. “It'll be fun to see people's faces when they realize that it's not a joke and we've really done it.”

“You'll marry me?”

“Yes.” Tony's whole face lights up and he's almost vibrating with excitement and relief across from her. More than anything, she wants to pull him in, scoot around the table until she can affirm her answer with a long, thorough kiss. She would, if she weren't so conscious of the fact that they are out in public, that no matter how nice and upscale the restaurant is, there would inevitably be someone with a camera phone ready to take a picture of them. “I love you.”

The emotions that flare in his eyes she has no trouble reading now: love, possessiveness, joy, and relief.

“Good.” He looks down and fidgets a bit. Then, picking up his fork, he starts plowing his way through his oysters with snow crab, beets, horseradish, and apple as if it were a plate of instant mashed potatoes and slopped-on gravy rather that something cooked by a top chef.

With a laugh, Pepper turns to her own entrée, her appetite suddenly returning with a vengeance. The food so far is exquisite, if the main course is up to the same caliber, Pepper may reconsider her thoughts on ordering dessert. It's not like they won't burn off the calories later.

“If we're going to get married, where's my ring?”

Tony pauses, fork midway to his mouth, and looks a bit like he did when she caught him getting taken out of the suit the first time. And like that time, he quickly manages to pull himself together. 

“I thought you'd like to pick out your own ring.”

“Don't have one, do you?”

“Not exactly.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means that I thought it would take a lot more convincing and I wasn't exactly ready with my best argument tonight.”

“So, basically, you're saying I'm way easier than you thought I was?” Pepper arches an eyebrow at him, then carefully gets the proportions of foie gras, quail, plum, and walnut right before spearing a pecan onto her fork.

“There's no good answer to that question, is there?”

“No, but I love to hear how you plan on getting yourself out of this hole.”

“I think I'm going to stop digging.”

“Trying something new; good for you.”

They continue to poke at each other until the main course arrives and Pepper is happy to see that the darkness she's seen lingering over Tony since the battle in Manhattan seems to have completely retreated for the moment. 

She's sure that it'll be back, but for right now, they're both enjoying themselves, happy to be safe, a little buzzed, and having a great time together.


	7. Afters 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just realized I forgot to post the next chapter. Between life and a trip overseas, time got away from me. However, in time for the opening weekend in North America, here is the next chapter. Well, all the next chapters as I don't know how much internet access I'll have over the next couple of weeks with traveling.
> 
> Thanks again, and again, and again to Soundingsea for the amazing betas.

Last night it took less than twenty minutes after Pepper accepted his admittedly poorly delivered and even more poorly planned proposal for her to start pointing out the flaws in his idea that they marry today.

In no particular order: the fact that it's Sunday in a fairly Catholic city so most places are going to be closed or busy doing church stuff, that there is apparently some antiquated law in Quebec about needing to post intentions for twenty days prior to the wedding, and that they didn't have rings. The last one seemed to bug Pepper the most, though Tony isn't exactly sure why.

He's not Tony mother fucking Stark for nothing. If most 'laws' of physics don't stop him, there's no way in hell some ridiculous antiquated centuries-old rules and conventions will. 

Plus, in his experience, most problems can be solved with money and he does have vast quantities to draw upon. 

Also, while Pepper may have not been his assistant for a while now, it's not as if she's lost the ability to get shit done. If anything, being CEO has given her a whole new set of tools to use when bending people to her will. 

Last night it was kinda hot to watch – Pepper sitting at the table in their suite on her BlackBerry, voice purposeful and calm, giving hell to some poor unseen assistant on the other end of the phone until she got to speak to the mayor, was nothing short of awesome – as over the course of an hour Pepper not only made the impossible possible, but put a full plan in place. 

Leaning against the black granite wall of a fairly upscale if nondescript apartment building in the heart of downtown Montreal, Tony watches the world pass by as he waits for Pepper to arrive. One thing she held firm on was the fact that he wasn't going to see her dress until right before the ceremony, so with a brief kiss on his lips she left him to finish his breakfast as church bells started tolling.

Looking at his watch makes Tony's muscles coil with tension; there's still a good five minutes before she's supposed to be here. Maybe for the first time in his life, Tony is early. He's been loitering in the lobby for the last ten minutes and the looks the doorman is starting to give him are no longer politely solicitous, but more suspiciously concerned. 

Compulsively, Tony checks his right hip pocket for about the thousandth time, hand resting on the small box containing their rings. They'd gone to the guy's studio the night before, not getting there until almost midnight. 

Thank god for disorganized artistic types who didn't bother packing until the last possible moment. 

If they'd waited until a more reasonable hour the way Pepper wanted, they would have missed him, as Claude Thibaudeau was heading out to Vegas first thing this morning for a invitation-only jewelry show. While the rings weren't perfect, they were unique – rings Claude was going to use as part of his show-exclusive display with the hopes of winning some award or other; Tony had given him more than enough money to compensate for withdrawing from the competition not to mention keeping his lips sealed about why he was withdrawing. Plus, when the news of their marriage inevitably came out, the man would have the cachet of saying Tony Stark and his wife wore rings that he'd designed – and they were theirs. 

Pulling out the ring he hopes to be placing on Pepper’s finger in just a couple of hours, Tony marvels again at just how small it is; it barely fits to the first knuckle on his pinky. A stone catches the light and he turns his hand until every one of them glitters. 

Pepper's ring had been a bit big, which meant that Tony's job this morning was returning to meet with Marc, Claude's brother, to pick up the re-sized ring. Tony runs a finger over the interlocking gold and platinum bands – Pepper's has eight diamonds inlaid into the gold; the stone is a ruby with four diamonds per side flanking it. His just has diamonds inlaid into the gold. 

When they saw the gold and platinum ring with the ruby – colors a near match to the Iron Man suit – Tony didn't even speak, just smirked and plucked it from the velvet holder. With a rueful smile and shake of her head, Pepper tried it on and gave a small nod of agreement. 

Given more time, he totally would have designed their rings, or really, he would have had someone else design the rings with a lot of input from both Pepper and himself, but time was of the essence and these rings were both unique and well suited to them as a couple and individuals. 

Despite not having any reason to think that Pepper would back out of marrying him, Tony feels that the sooner he gets his ring on her finger, and hers on his, the better it will be. 

Plus, this hasty wedding means that there is absolutely no way the press will get wind of it. They will call their friends from the plane tomorrow to let them know. Tony feels vaguely bad about some of them missing the ceremony, but it can't be helped. 

Actually, on second thought, he really doesn't. This is something for him and Pepper, and maybe Rhodey, but Rhodey is overseas on some super-secret mission – Tony has totally hacked into the DOD and knows that Rhodey is basically spying in Syria via unmanned drones. There are some disturbing reports of alien tech coming out from secret bases. If anyone had bothered to ask, Tony could have told them it’s just some stolen parts from China and a couple of low-level genius leaps in propulsion systems. But as no one has asked... 

Tony grins to himself and contemplates pulling out his phone to let Rhodey know he's wasting his time, but is distracted by a tall, slender, well-dressed, but decidedly not red-headed woman striding up to the building and through the door held open by the doorman. Impatience settles over Tony once again and he holds Pepper's ring up to his eye, inspecting it for any flaws. 

The doorman is starting to eye him with more than a moderate level of interest, so Tony slides Pepper's ring back into its slot in the box and snaps the lid closed. 

With the ring securely nestled in its temporary home, Tony puts the box back into his pocket. Checking his watch, he wonders if time might actually have slowed down. Time has always been a rather fluid concept to him – both personally and in the time-space continuum kinda way – and it feels like he's been waiting for Pepper for hours. 

How long could it possibly take her to find a dress?

He conveniently forgets the time it took him nearly a week to find the right shirt to wear to a party in Zurich, and how he nearly missed the event in its entirety because of his stringent requirements. 

She promised that she wouldn't take too long and would meet him at Judge Thibert's to sign all the appropriately-backdated papers they would need for the ceremony, which would take place back at the hotel at promptly two o'clock. 

While she's as fussy as he is about clothing and this – their wedding – has the confusing dichotomy of being both incredibly important and pretty immaterial in the overall scheme of things, still, Pepper wants to find the exact right dress. Or so she said. However, Tony is pretty sure he heard her mumble something about accessories when the door began closing and he just hadn't had enough coffee to be able to properly process what she said until it was too late. 

It is Pepper and she's one of the most fanatically organized people he's ever met – there are some military generals that look chaotic compared to her – so if she said she'd meet him here at noon, then she'll be here, but the waiting might actually kill him. 

Glancing at his watch, Tony notes that just over a minute has passed and wills the second, minute, and hour hands to line up under the twelve. Pepper will be here on time, Tony assures himself. 

Unless something happened. 

What if she changed her mind? What if someone made a comment to her while she was trying on her dress, asked her what the special occasion was, and the completely understandable realization crashed down on Pepper that getting married to him, to Tony Stark, to Iron Man, was a really bad idea? 

Then again, if two years hadn't sent her running, Tony tries to convince himself, then a comment from a now-hated sales assistant wouldn't. What did that bitch know about them anyway? Was she there, did she see how he and Pepper had build a life together? How they'd fought and laughed and just been for the last two years? How over the course of a decade they'd figured out how to deal with each other, how to read one another's moods, how to laugh in the good times and help in the bad?

Okay, so most of that had been Pepper, but he'd been trying. Hell, he'd been getting pretty fucking great at figuring out Pepper and knowing what to say, to do, and what not to do. Sure, he fucks up sometimes, but Pepper isn't one to hold a grudge. 

At least not for long. 

And if that fucking bitch of a sales woman upset Pepper on her wedding day, he has resources that—

“You know, death glare is supposed to just be a saying,” Pepper says, cutting into his thoughts as she walks up to him, “but I think you might actually be making it a reality.”

Instinctively, Tony wraps his right arm around her waist, his left hand cupping her jaw and holding her in place as he kisses her long and deep and maybe a bit more passionately than the situation, and public location, calls for. 

“Tony?” Pepper inquires against his lips.

“Just happy to see you,” he tells her. Not for the instant repair and reconstruction of all his decimated cars will he admit to her what ludicrously wild path his thoughts had been running down. Now that she is here, in his arms, he feels foolish for all of his rampant speculations and doubts. 

Giving him a curious look, Pepper steps back and slides her hand into his, fingers lacing. 

“Ready?” Pepper asks as if she thinks he's going to back out. As if this weren't his plan, one he'd needed to talk her into the night before. The smile on her face is bemused, as if she can't quite believe either of them is really doing this.

“Oh yeah.” Giving the doorman a scornful look, he makes his way inside with Pepper. A smoked glass and black granite desk fills the center of the lobby and Pepper gives her name to the bored-looking man sitting there to direct visitors. 

“Judge Thibert said to send you right up,” he tells them in a coolly polite voice with only the barest hint of French. “Fifth floor, apartment 507.”

“Thank you.” Pepper smiles slightly, and they make their way to the bank of elevators.

Tony pushes the button and waits. And waits. 

There's no way the elevators in the Stark tower take this long, Tony thinks, sighing in exasperation. There's no way the elevators in the Twenties with the brass cage doors took this long. 

He pushes the button again. Ten more times.

“Tony.” Pepper's voice is low and filled with amused exasperation. 

“It's taking forever,” he says by way of explanation. Plus, what if the light just lit up, but there's something wrong with the circuitry to call the elevator? Maybe he should try pushing the button on the panel two elevator doors down. 

Luckily for his sanity – which he readily admits might not be working that well today – the doors to the furthest car open. 

“Why do we have to do this?” Tony asks as the doors close with them inside.

“Because you begged and I relented, so now we're getting married.”

“I didn't beg,” he says indignantly. “I asked.”

“You asked multiple times. There was pleading involved.”

“I'll concede there might have been a small amount of rationalization, but no pleading.” Pepper gives him a long look and he feels his resolve crumble. “There might have been pleading involved,” he concedes. “It's just because I wanted to make sure you understood.”

Turning to him, Pepper cups his cheek and gently kisses him on the lips. “I understand.”

“Good.” Tony feels himself settle down; the nervous energy is still there, but it's more like excitement now. 

“But why do we have to come here?” 

“Because Judge Thibert is the only one available to sign the papers we need and we needed to get here before he left for his golf game.”

“You'd think with the amount of money we're paying for this, he'd come to us.”

“Technically, we're not paying him anything; you've made a very large donation to the Montreal Children's Hospital,” Pepper tells him as they exit the elevator. 

“With a city filled with so many corrupt officials, you couldn't get a judge to bribe where we'd give him actual cash and he'd come with all the papers to us?”

“You really want our wedding to be officiated by someone who is in questionable moral and legal standing?”

“Point,” he agrees as Pepper raps three times on the appropriate door under the shiny brass '7'.

The door is opened by a man around Tony's age who is wearing light-weight tan pants and pale green shirt with a small alligator sewn on the right side.

“Miss Potts and Mr. Stark, I presume,” he says, the French heavy in his words. “Oliver Thibert.”

“Virginia Potts.” Pepper extends her hand to him. “It's very nice to meet you. Thank you for taking time out of your weekend for us.”

“Always happy to help.” Though from his wry tone, Tony thinks it's not so much help as forced to by someone higher up the food chain.

Pepper pulls out some papers from a leather folder inside her purse and hands them to the judge. “This is the standard non-disclosure agreement I mentioned when we spoke on the phone.”

“I'll swap you,” jokes the judge, and he and Pepper exchange packets of papers. “Would either of you like something to drink as we go over everything?”

Tony would love a scotch, but he doesn't think that'll get them out of there any faster and back to the hotel to get the deed done. Instead, he decides to keep his mouth shut. Pepper looks at him oddly.

“No, we’re fine, thank you,” Pepper answers for both of them.

“If you'll excuse me while I get my glasses...” Without waiting for an answer either way he walks down a gloomy hallway.

“What's going on with you?” she demands as soon as they are alone.

“Nothing. I just hate paperwork,” Tony jokes. She obviously doesn't believe him, but despite the fact they're filling out papers so that they can get married – or maybe because they're filling out papers so that they can get married – she doesn't push.

Judge Thibert insists on reading every word of the NDA – lawyers, Tony thinks with derision – before signing. Eighteen minutes after the judge opened the door, he's closing it as Tony and Pepper head out. 

“Let's get married!” Tony drops a quick kiss onto her lips and then presses the button to call the elevator. 

# # #

For the second time that day, Tony finds himself outside, leaning against a stone wall, waiting for Pepper while a strange man looks at him suspiciously. Except this time he's on the rooftop balcony of their suite and the man is a city court clerk getting paid nearly five times what he normally would for coming out on extremely short notice on a Sunday. 

All of the patio furniture was cleared away while he and Pepper were out getting the last-minute items for their impromptu wedding taken care of. Now, a long thin table with a bright white tablecloth is pushed up against the south side of the glass-walled patio. On it are an array of fruit, cheese, meat, bread, and petits fours. At the far end is an ice bucket with champagne, still corked, and two champagne flutes. 

While neither of them had requested such an arrangement, Tony is pleased that someone had taken initiative – most likely the night concierge who had helped them set everything up from the rings to the paperwork .

It's a nice touch, and after they finish the ceremony, they'll be able to have their own private celebration. In a perfect world, the sun would be shining and there would be no wind the day of their wedding – while it's not gusting, it's definitely picked up a bit in the last hour. Also, birds would be singing instead of the sound of nearby traffic weaving its frustrated way through streets centuries too skinny for modern vehicles. But this world is far from perfect, as well he knows, and the fact that the sky is cloudy means that Pepper won't have to worry about burning while they stand outside at midday without cover.

He hopes that everything goes smoothly; dozens of scenarios, mostly from movies and television, play through his head: someone shouting 'I object' at the last possible moment, the bride running off with her childhood sweetheart – not that he has any idea who Pepper's childhood sweetheart is or even if she had one – one of the guests – which now he is more grateful than ever they don't have – keeling over of some horrible illness, rings getting lost.

Sliding his right hand into his pants pocket, Tony checks for the hundredth time that day just to make sure the box is still there. The ones he now wears are a bit more appropriate for the occasion: a pair of custom-tailored Brioni tuxedo pants. Despite Pepper's protests, he'd sent the jet to New York to pick up a tuxedo for him. This wedding might be getting thrown together in a quick fashion, but there's no excuse to dress poorly. 

This is important, one of the most important events in his personal life, and Tony doesn't want to be wearing something he would wear every day. At Pepper's insistence, he just has the jacket and pants; his shirt is a pale blue grey which she loves, no tie. Pepper said her dress wasn't that formal and she didn't want to make this about clothes.

At which declaration, he wonders whom exactly she's been living with for the last couple of years? Between them they have enough clothes and shoes to outfit everyone who works for a small company. Like Ford. They'd be the best dressed autoworkers in the world. 

What the hell is taking Pepper so long? Tony's hand grips around the ring box, trying his best to look calm and unconcerned. From the way the clerk is looking at him, Tony doesn't think he's pulling off his normal suave persona. 

He would have heard the front door to the suite close if she'd left. Hell, he can see that the door to their room is still closed; she'd banished him to the smaller room to get ready. 

Unable to stop himself, Tony fiddles with his watch, tapping it twice to make sure it’s still working.

“What time is it?” Tony asks the clerk, whose name he totally forgot about three seconds after they'd introduced themselves.

“Five ‘til two,” the man tells Tony without even looking at his watch. It might be the fifth or six time he's asked just that question in the last couple of minutes.

The fact that Pepper isn't late, that she's in their room getting ready, that the door to said room is within his line of sight, does nothing to settle his nerves. If anything, his nerves are far more acutely active the closer it gets to two. Life is nothing if not unpredictable and his level of anxiety that something is going to go wrong and will prevent the ceremony from happening is rising with every breath he takes. 

Plans have a way of blowing up in his face. Usually literally. 

When the door to the master bedroom finally opens, Tony all but jumps out of his skin.

Across from him, Tony thinks the clerk mumbles something like 'finalement', but Tony has completely lost the ability to care about anything except Pepper.

Her dress is made of some sort of flowing material that starts off as the palest of sky blue just above the swell of her breasts and as it falls down to her feet turns into the deepest of navies. It seems to be held in place with a strap over her left shoulder in a pale grey, maybe pale blue, that darkens to pewter as it crosses between her breasts and wraps around her right hip to continues into the skirt of the dress and down to the ground.

When she steps up from the living room to the balcony, Pepper's dress flows and drifts around her. As she crosses the threshold to the outside, a gust of wind ruffles the hem of her dress and Tony's heart rate surges to a gallop as he sees the shoes she's wearing: navy heels with straps that wrap up her calves. He remembers when she bought them in Venice, how they'd barely made it back to the hotel before...

“Tony?” Pepper all but purrs, voice carrying on a low enough register that it seems to strum along all of his nerve endings. There's a wicked light in her eyes as she knows full well what memories those shoes hold; she's never worn them out in public due to how he pretty much jumps her whenever she has them on. Well, there that one time in New York; Tony was never happier to be able to hack into the Met's security system to erase a section of time that while he cherishes, he sure as fuck didn't want anyone else to ever see.

“You look gorgeous,” he gets out, happy to be able to form words. There are a few he's going to need to say in a minute that will change his life forever and if he can't get past how badly he just wants to lift the flowing material of her dress and wrap her pale, mile-long legs – shown off to perfection in those fuck-me-now shoes – around his hips, he's never going to be able to say those words. 

“Last chance,” Pepper tells him, linking her fingers with his. 

“You interested in running? Because I think, given our individual footwear, I'd catch you,” he jokes, but he searches her eyes for any shadow of reluctance or doubt. 

“When was the last time you had to run for anything?” Pepper asks with an arched brow. “I've had years of chasing after your messes in much higher heels.”

Grinning, he eyes her legs. “Mile-long legs are also an advantage,” he muses, eyes running over the diaphanous material of her dress . “However, you know I have a suit that can fly, right?”

“The whole world knows about your suit.”

“True.”

“I'd catch you.” The words are light, but he's not so subtly letting her know he'd follow her anywhere. She squeezes his hand in acknowledgment, in acceptance; her smile promises the same. 

By unspoken agreement, they turn and walk the few steps over to the man who will officially, legally join them. And while Tony knows that there really isn't any need for a paper to define what they are to each other, if the worst should happen, or even not the worst, if he somehow ends up unconscious at a hospital or gravely injured, there'll be no need for legal maneuvering and fights that might take too long for her to be able to be at his side. 

Contracts can get lost, powers of attorney overturned. A marriage certificate, however, is a much harder document to suppress or ignore. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Potts. I am Alex LeBlanc.” 

Thrilled at not having to do the introductions, Tony is only mildly irritated when Pepper pulls her hand free from his to shake hands with the other man. 

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. LeBlanc. And, again, let me just say, thank you for coming on such short notice on your day off. I hope that whatever inconvenience we've caused you is balanced out by the knowledge that you're helping us out tremendously.”

And the fact that they are helping out his bank account tremendously, Tony snarks mentally, but is wise enough to not use his out-loud voice. 

“Mr. Stark indicated that you would both prefer a shorter, non-denominational ceremony,” Alex says.

“Correct,” Pepper answers for them both. “Neither of us are all that religious.”

Especially considering they actually knew a couple of gods and they sure as hell weren't at all like any god Tony had ever heard about in church. 

“Shall we begin?” 

# # #

Picking up the proffered pen, Tony signs his full name to the bottom of the marriage certificate. 

The ring on his finger feels foreign; he rarely wears jewelry of any kind and never rings. Jewelry and engineering are a bad combination: necklaces get caught and jerked, as do bracelets, while rings are responsible for more than one person he knew losing a finger – last night he picked up a chain to put his wedding ring on for when he works. From personal experience, Tony knows all about sleeves catching; luckily, material tends to tear before flesh and bone. There is a very practical reason he wears t-shirts or body-hugging shirts while he works – well, safety, and several years ago, he'd noticed Pepper's eyes wandering one day. Or he thought he did; it happened so quickly, and her expression had been just as placid as ever, so he wasn't one-hundred percent sure.

It wasn't until they had been sleeping together for several months that he caught her eyes running over his arms again. That night didn't end until the sun came up. Both of them needing to consume an unhealthy amount of caffeine the next day just to function. 

His plans for the rest of today are running along the same lines. It's all he can do not to toss Alex out; the only thing stopping him is the knowledge that it would supremely piss Pepper off, and while the sex can be fucking hot when she's furious, that's not the tone he wants to set for the rest of their time in Montreal. 

Or for the start of their marriage. 

“Again, thank you,” Pepper says to Alex as she ushers him from the balcony. The skirt of her dress swirls and flutters as she descends the steps into their suite, giving Tony tantalizing glimpses of her feet in those shoes. 

Dropping his right hand to the curve of her shoulder and letting it drop to her waist, he follows her down the three steps. Under his fingers, Tony can feel the tension radiating throughout her body. It's always fascinated him how she can seem so calm and placid to the world, but be a barely-controlled ball of energy just under the surface.

He skims his fingers over bare skin and relishes the tremor that ripples her muscles under his touch.

Over the months they've been together, he's made it his mission to push her to the point where as soon as they're alone she turns to him with needy desire. He's always careful to not break her control as he's a possessive, greedy bastard and there's no way in hell he wants anyone seeing Pepper flushed with lust and grabbing him as if she'll combust if she doesn't have him. 

“I was glad to be of service,” Alex tells them. “This is the copy of the marriage certificate that you retain for your records.”

Tony would be glad to be of service to Pepper or serviced by Pepper, if this guy would just leave. There must be some sort of etiquette to pushing this guy out the door while simultaneously getting his hands on any part of naked Pepper he can. 

“Thank you,” Pepper murmurs, leaning into his touch, back arching ever so slightly. “Hopefully it'll take the press a while to find out where and when we were married.” For once, Pepper isn't looking at the individual she's talking to, instead; she seems to be studying their marriage certificate as if it's some sort of document written in a foreign language. It only then occurs to Tony that it might indeed be in a foreign language. 

Taking it from her, he studies it and sees that it's in English and technically what they've had is a civil union, not a church-sanctioned marriage; this is always the case in Quebec, or so Pepper has informed him, if a couple gets married outside of a religious institution. It's still just as legal, he assumes. Leery, as if the paper might explode at any provocation, Tony sets it next to Pepper's laptop on the end table in the living room. He stands still for several seconds, studying the paper, hardly able to believe that Pepper actually consented to marry him, that they are now married, that one of his most-tightly held fantasies has come true and that no matter what anyone says, she is tied to him – as he is to her – in ways far beyond the nebulous 'living together' and 'significant others'. 

It was rather shocking for Tony to discover such a latent and primal need to be bound to her, but the closer he comes to death, the more they build their life together, he wants – no, needs – there to be something to show the world that what they have has meaning. Not because he thinks that a marriage certificate will define anything important between them, but because he needs tangible proof to the rest of the world of what they mean to each other. 

That there will never be any question of her being able to have access to him or his property; that in the end Pepper is the ultimate bearer of his wishes and demands. That she alone has the power of what to do, knows what he wants, and that no one, NO ONE, can take that away from her.

“If they become too persistent with you, please do not hesitate to contact my office and we'll deal with the matter,” Pepper is saying as Tony tunes back in to the conversation. Thankfully, they seem to have been getting ever closer to the exit door of the suite while he's been staring blankly at their marriage certificate. 

However, both Pepper and Alex have stopped at the start of the hallway leading to the front door and are looking at him, Alex with a politely blank expression that doesn't quite mask his amusement and understanding of this afternoon's events. At a guess, this is far from the first such quick, quiet, and clandestine ceremony that he's performed. 

Pepper crosses her arms and narrows her eyes; knowing exasperation flits across her face and Tony isn't sure what it says about him that a hard kick of lust shoots through his body.

Quickly, he joins them, nudging Pepper into movement with his hand at the small of her back. 

Finally, they get to the door. 

“And if the long arm of Stark Industries' legal team doesn't work,” Tony tells Alex, opening the front door, “I have some friends that are good at getting rid of uninvited parties.”

“I have every confidence that, Miss Potts, erm, Mrs. Stark?”

Both Tony and Pepper start at the name.

“Miss Potts,” Pepper injects smoothly. It wasn't something they'd discussed before, but Tony realizes that he would actually feel odd if she'd chosen to change her name to his. His isn't a name he is all that proud of, though he has been doing his best to cleanse as much of the death from it as possible. 

Plus, if she had changed her name, that would probably have meant that he wouldn't be able to call her 'Miss Potts' anymore. Considering the concerted effort he'd put into actually learning her name, nearly a decade of habit would be hard to break.

Memories bubble up of the ways he's started some of their more interesting sexual encounters while in the office; it often begins with him calling her 'Miss Potts'. No way in hell he's giving up that name.

“I have every confidence that Miss Potts' staff will take care of everything.” Alex gives Tony a wry smile. “Montreal is an old and beautiful city and I'm not sure how we'd rebuild if your friends came to take care of the problem.”

“In our defense, we were dealing with invaders from outer space.” Tony wants the guy gone, but has the need to make sure everyone everywhere understands what he and the others had been up against. Several news organizations – and not a small nubers of his opponents – have been blaming him for the destruction wrought in Manhattan with his involvement. 

For a second time. 

Alien snake things from fucking outer space had come through a wormhole with their leaders intent on the domination of Earth. He should have done nothing while that happened?

“Big, mean aliens, bent on world domination,” Tony reiterates aloud. 

“I don't guarantee all members of the press corps are actually human,” Alex jokes, breaking Tony from his inner rant. “Don't worry; you are far from the first celebrity couple my office has dealt with.” 

Extending her hand, Pepper shakes Alex's hand. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Monsieur LeBlanc.”

“It was a pleasure. And let me be the first to congratulate you both on your marriage.”

With a smile he finally leaves.

“Alone at last!” Tony all but yanks Pepper against his chest. Her arms wrap around his neck while he grips her hips, aligning their bodies. The kiss is hungry and hard and more than a little desperate. It feels as if it's been days, weeks, rather than hours since he's last been with her. 

It's been too long since he’s felt her, touched her skin, breathed in the scent of her arousal, heard her moan his name as he slides into her wet, welcoming depths. With quick movements, Tony bunches up the material of her dress so that he can get to the skin that's been teasing him for what seems like ages. Never known for his self-control, Tony has been holding himself in check for longer than could possibly be healthy. 

Pepper undulates against him, her breasts pushing into his chest, her pelvis rubbing along his arousal, and his hands fist tightly in the silk fabric of her dress. He groans and jerks her close. Still, he doesn't have the feel of her smooth skin under his fingers and it's been way too long since he's been inside her, since she's come apart in his arms, around his cock. 

Too many fucking hours. His hands jerk into motion again, gathering yet more fabric.

Having to spend the last half hour watching the wind toy with and ruffle the silky material of her dress while he tried to pay attention to—

“Holy fuck,” Tony growls. “No underwear.” 

“Consider it my wedding gift to you.” Pepper smiles wickedly at him, her words low and throaty, and if his cock wasn't as hard as rock before it sure as hell is now. 

“Best. Present. Ever.” Tony's words are mixed with biting kisses as his hands roam over her, kneading the soft, round flesh of her ass, pulling her against him until he wonders if she'd have any objection to him just taking her against the wall by the door because getting her to their bedroom seems like a herculean effort at this point. One that might actually do him injury, as moving with a hard-on this stiff can't be medically advisable. 

If the way her hands are tugging at the front of his pants is any indication, then the answer will be no objections whatsoever. 

Still, it's their first time having officially sanctioned sex and he just wants to make sure he's not fucking up from the start.

“Bed?” he manages to get out even as he slides his index and middle finger into her hot, wet, welcoming slit. Her body arches into his, her left leg coming up to hook around his hip, opening her to him all the more. The groan that builds from deep inside his chest before exiting his mouth is only slightly muffled by Pepper’s demanding kiss.

“Now.” Pepper's word turns into a moan as he sinks his fingers into her. From the way her muscles clench around his fingers, coating them in the blatant evidence of her arousal, Tony knows just how close to the edge Pepper is. 

“Here?” Tony asks, trying to confirm that he doesn't have to coordinate his limbs to get them to the bedroom. Her hands cup him through the wool of his trousers and silk of his boxers and if he could have any super power in the world, Tony wants his to be the ability to make clothing disappear with a thought. 

“Now,” she all but growls, hand working frantically at the front of his pants until he feels the constraining material shoved past his hips and one of her hands delving into the front of his boxers to take him in hand. “Fast,” she bites out, her mouth crashing against his in a rough demanding kiss that has her tongue tangling with his. 

There's some fancy work on her part he can't quite follow, and his pants and boxers fall to his ankles as Pepper wraps her right hand around his cock and cups his balls with her left.

Fast is just fine, because he's been mostly hard and ready to come for the better part of an hour. 

Taking Pepper at her word, Tony spins them so that her back is pressed hard against the wall. The move loosens her hands from him which is probably for the best as he's one good stroke away from coming all over both of them.

Tilting his hips, he pins her in place as he hikes up her skirt. With less maneuvering than should be necessary – though they have done this more times than he can currently remember at this exact moment – Tony lines up the head of his cock so that it's teasing her opening. Once again, her hand finds him and sets to stroking up and down his length. 

It's nearly too much.

Catching her eyes, Tony thrusts his hips forward in a fast motion, pushing his aching cock as deeply into her welcoming heat as he can. Balls-deep, he barely restrains himself from pulling back out and pounding into her until neither of them is able to stand upright. There's something very primitive beating deep inside that is pushing him almost beyond reason to claim, to be claimed.

Pepper's teeth bite into his neck, sinking in hard enough that he's sure there'll be no hiding the mark over his pulse point. Somehow he's missed her undoing the buttons on his shirt – though he has some vague recollection of them pinging off the wall and onto the floor, moments before, when he was pushing in deep and fast – and her hands are scrambling for purchase on his back. Leaving evidence of their own, he's sure, though that'll be much easier to hide.

“Move!” Her voice is low and feral and sends hard pulses of desire strumming through his veins.

Move he does. 

Pulling out until just the head of his cock is left inside, he barely pauses before thrusting back in, her hips bucking away from the wall to match his movements.

What follows is far from elegant and nowhere near the soft loving of this morning, but hard and primal: a dark affirmation of what they are to each other. What they have been. What a piece of paper officially makes them, but could never really explain. 

Her skin is slick with sweat, as is his, and their hands slip and grapple to hold on, to hold together. Given the ease with which he is sliding in and out of her, Tony is sure both of their thighs will be covered with her arousal. 

Pepper is starting to clench around his cock fast and tight and all Tony wants to is hold on long enough so that he can watch her come apart in his arms. 

“Fuck. Tony,” Pepper gasps out as she bucks up off the wall with a keening whimper, her back arching so that they're pressed hard together. It feels like a hot, velvet vice has clamped over his cock and there's no holding back anymore. His hands clutch at her as his hips piston and he jerks once, twice, then spills into her, a guttural moan spilling from between his clenched teeth. 

Neither of them are steady on their feet, and Tony attempts to control their slide to the cold marble floor of the entrance as best he can. The cool stone makes her gasp and Tony tries to pull her as much onto his lap as he is able to with muscles gone limp from his release. They are a tangle of limbs and stuttering breaths and neither of them really have any true motor function at the moment. 

He wants to laugh, to yell his love and triumph, to gather her close and never let go. To make sure that there'll be a thousand, a million more moments like these. In reality, he hopes he'll be able to stand and weave his way to the bed in the next decade or so. Maybe with a stop to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Love you,” he murmurs into her shoulder, gently kissing the exposed skin. Her flavor fills his mouth and if he hadn't just come hard enough to see stars – and he knows all about seeing stars up close and personal – Tony thinks he'd want her all over again. 

He thanks any gods – well maybe not any gods as he now considers one, if not a friend, than an ally and this is really the last place he wants to be thinking about Thor – that he figured out exactly what he wanted between Pepper and himself and that when he did, she was willing to let him play catch up. Because, for all his experience with the opposite sex, it really was just sex; the few relationships he'd had in no way prepared him for what he was to have, does have, with Pepper. 

Nuzzling her throat, he lazily licks the point where her pulse still throbs. 

“Official now,” Pepper says, her head lolling back to rest against the wall as she looks at him with the most satisfied expression. 

“What is?” He wonders if he'll be able to stand any time soon; the floor is hard and cold, and he wouldn't mind trying for round two before they either pass out or have to refuel.

“We consummated the marriage.” She snickers slightly. “Against the wall.”

“It's a good precedent to set for the rest of our lives.”

“Moving just enough clothing so that we could screw like crazed, sex-starved animals?”

“Well, that too.” Tony leans in and kisses her long and slow, all tongue and touching and wanting. “But, I was referring to the fact that we consummated it in a timely fashion and were both equal and enthusiastic participants.” He grins at her. “Also, we totally fucked against the wall without taking off most of our clothes, so now anniversary sex will have to be just as wild.”

“Planning on waiting until our anniversary to do that again?” Pepper asks archly, her hand dropping from around his neck so that her nails gently scrape down his chest.

Arousal he wasn't sure he could actually muster again heats in his blood and Tony hopes like hell round two will be a go in the very near future.

“Well, just to cover our bases, we might want to try a bed next time.” He can't stifle the moan as Pepper stretches against him like a cat arching lazily after a long nap in the sun. Her dress is hiked up around her waist and he's pretty sure that even the best dry cleaner in the world won't be getting the wrinkles and stains out of it. 

Just as well; if she were ever to wear it again, he thinks both of them might end up walking funny for a week.

“How about a shower?” Pepper asks, slowly climbing to her feet. Swaying slightly, she reaches out and uses both the wall and his shoulder to steady herself. It might be the heels, but Tony thinks she'd be just as unsteady in bare feet. 

“I'm good right here,” Tony tells her, admiring the view. She's so slender and sleek, and so fucking hot with her hair all mussed and cheeks flushed. Her shoes stayed on and Tony reaches out to trace the straps that have managed to remain wrapped around her left calf. 

“Shower,” Pepper says, but her voice is low and the look she gives him makes Tony wish he were about fifteen years younger. Though, really, it's not like he would have known what to do with her back then. “Then maybe we should sample some of the fine food the hotel provided for us.”

With a groan, he heaves himself to his feet and tangles his fingers in her hair, pulling her in for a fast, deep kiss.

“Shower,” he confirms. Hitching his pants up to his hips with his left hand, he takes her left with his right and they make their way towards the bathroom on slightly wobbly legs. “Then food.” Fuel for what he plans is a good idea. Fantastic idea even. 

Automatically, their fingers lace together and it's not until they're at the bedroom that Tony even notices. With a slight grin he wiggles their hands back and forth causing Pepper to look over at him; a similar grin lifting the corners of her mouth.

“We're going to be one of those ridiculously attractive couples who always appear together in photographs either holding hands or with my arm around your waist,” Tony says, anticipation lacing his words.

“I thought you hated being predictable.” Pepper lets go of his hand and turns her back to him. Months of living together mean she doesn't need to say anything for Tony to know she wants him to undo her dress's zipper. 

“Some level of predictability is good.” He kisses the smooth skin between her shoulder blades. “Needed, even.”

In moves choreographed from countless times before, they strip each other, hands caressing over newly exposed skin, lips brushing after. Neither is trying to arouse – though, frankly, just thinking about Pepper is arousing for him, but he needs a bit more recovery time before he acts on any of those thoughts – more, it's a way to connect, to ground. 

The contrast between the skin of her finger and the metal of her wedding ring is both disconcerting and wondrous and Tony hopes that neither feeling ever goes away.

“What do you want to do after the shower?” Pepper asks.

Tony just smirks at her; as if he would really make any other plans on their wedding day. The blush that rises to her cheeks thrills him and he shoots her a cheeky grin. Her response is to shoot him her patented 'none of that nonsense' expression, which makes him honor-bound to leer all the more.

“Seriously?” she asks, but from the way her body brushes against his as they cross from the bedroom to the bathroom, Tony knows she's only teasing in more ways than one.

“How long have you known me?”

“That would only date both of us,” she says as she turns on the taps for the shower. 

“Right.” He waits until she steps in, steam billowing , then follows her in. “But suffice to say, long enough that you shouldn't be surprised that my first thoughts are of sex.”

And, despite all the times and ways they've been together – from fucking to making love and every conceivable emotional spectrum in between – Tony doesn't ever believe that he will ever want anyone else.

Pepper is it for him and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

“Wash my back?” she asks, smiling coyly up at him through lashes made spiky from the water.

“Always,” he says. Rubbing the small bar of soap – not the hotel brand, but one of the ones he always travels with – Tony gets a good lather, then slowly trails his hands over her freckled shoulders, the bumps of her spine, the dip at the small of her back.

Always, he thinks to himself again. Forever.


End file.
